


Five Dollars

by folerdetdufoler



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, SKAM Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-21 20:50:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13151781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folerdetdufoler/pseuds/folerdetdufoler
Summary: You know that one book that changes your life? It just landed in Isak Valtersen's inbox.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> this was written for kit, for the 2017 SKAM secret santa on tumblr. happy christmas, darling! hope you enjoy.
> 
> thank you to william, for the late night/early morning chats, and that bedside table.

It all started with a rushed email from Luke. He put the entire message in the subject line: _Read this. Halfway through and it’s amazing._ Isak scrolled down looking for more text or an attachment, but there wasn’t anything. He shot back his own subject line: _Attachment?_

Isak tucked his phone back in his suit coat and stepped forward in line. He was stuck in the lunch rush at the salad bar a block from his office, but he had managed to clear out a few emails while he waited. He swirled the chopped greens in his bowl and checked out his fellow patrons. It was the usual crowd: men in navy suits, women in sensible shoes, all staring at the menu board or their phones. Tourists were either overdressed or underdressed, with no in between, though they rarely ventured this far away from the avenue for a wimpy salad. Isak moved up to the cashier to pay.

While the register took its time spitting out a useless piece of paper, Isak opened the second email from Luke with the attachment. He had added a couple more notes: _Title needs to change. Technically a translation but it’s smooth as butter._ The PDF opened to page one, no summary or bio getting in the way. He allowed himself to read the first line.

**Day 301: I quit my job yesterday.**

“Thank you, sir.” The cashier handed him the bagged salad and Isak carried it back to the office.

* * *

Walking through the glass doors on the seventh floor, he gave Annie at the front desk a nod and a smile. She raised her own forkful of salad in a solidarity salute as he strode past. Isak took the central hallway down to the east side of the floor, then swung a left into his office cluster.

“Luke called,” Nick announced from his cubicle. “And Production brought up Adam’s first pass. It’s on your desk. I’m going to mail his before I leave today.”

“Thanks, I’ll take a look. Is Luke in his office?”

Nick glanced at his phone. “Yes.”

Isak retreated to his office, sliding the glass door shut behind him. It was the most amount of privacy he’d get, short of a stall in the men’s room. He didn’t mind too much—his neighbors were good friends and respectful—but it was difficult to get a proper lunch break without an interruption. He shrugged off his coat and draped it on the back of his chair, then settled down to his salad and the pile of deliveries on his desk. In addition to the manuscript with Production’s form letter on top, a couple of bound manuscripts from other publishers had arrived, and a holiday party invitation from a designer. He alternated bites of salad with clearing his desk; he RSVP’d to the invitation (yes), looked up an author’s address for a blurb request, tossed the second bound manuscript onto his bag in the corner, and started flipping through Adam’s pages. Isak mentally ticked through the edits he and Adam had agreed on, making sure they made it into this next round.

He didn’t look up until he heard a knock; Nick had slid open the door just enough to poke his head in. “Luke’s on the line. Do you want to take it?” Isak spun around to check his phone, which was silent but flashing an angry red light.

“Oh shit, yes, sorry I must’ve muted my ring.”

Nick retreated and shut the door. Isak picked up.

“Have you read it yet?”

“Hi Luke.” Isak clicked open his email, making him wait. “I have not. Have you sent it wide?”

“No. As soon as I received it from Even I just forwarded it to you.”

“Even?”

“The author.”

“Who translated it?” Isak tried to read the PDF on his computer as they talked but wasn’t absorbing anything.

“He did. He wrote it in Norwegian first and then rewrote it in English.”

“Oh fuck off, are you just sending this to me because I’m Norwegian?”

“Maybe. But you’ll be so glad I did because it’s honestly…gold. I barely touched it.”

Butter. Gold. Isak half expected it to pour out of his screen when he scrolled.

“I’ll give you the weekend with it. I want to hear what you think, but I am planning on sending to a small list.”

“Who?” He wanted to hear what level Luke thought this would get, who his competition would be and what kind of support Luke was expecting. Luke rattled off four names, all women, all executive editors, all different houses. The cream of the crop. He was honored, even if all he could play was the Norwegian card. Isak let out a low whistle.

“Exactly. I am throwing you a fucking bone, and I don’t even like you that much. An entire weekend. Catherine is going to start dialing at 8 AM on Monday.”

“I’ll be ready. Thanks.”

Luke hung up.

Isak forwarded the email to Nick with a request to print the PDF. Most of the time Isak was fine with reading submissions on his iPad, but when he wanted to give something a little more attention he needed to have it on paper. Old-fashioned and not great for the environment, sure, but this let him work better and gave Nick an excuse to hang out in the copy room on his cell phone while the machine spit out a few hundred pages. All of the editors in his cluster worked better on paper, which bonded them a bit. They were all older than Isak, and were glad to have someone younger on their side of the ridiculous paper vs. electronic argument. Nick’s recycling bin got a workout.

Isak tossed his salad bowl and finished Adam’s review. He was called into a cover meeting at 2:30, and then battled his inbox for the rest of the afternoon. He enjoyed clearing his plate as much as possible on Fridays, so nothing hung over his head over the weekend and everyone else had questions answered to kick off their Mondays. He also took advantage of the early exit, when agents stopped calling, the emails slowed to a trickle, and the publisher announced his departure to the floor. 

“Have a good weekend everyone. Stay warm.” Matthew leaned far enough into the cluster so everyone could catch a glimpse of him, and then moved on. He was off to his weekend home, a few hours’ drive outside the city, where he had blessedly slow internet. If Isak received an email from him on the weekend you knew someone had fucked up big time.

Across the way, on the other side of Nick’s cubicle, Isak saw Gina gathering her bags and changing from her heels to sneakers. “Weekend plans, boys?” With her bags slung over her shoulder she shuffled out and leaned against Nick’s cube. Nick’s parents were coming to the city for a visit, and so Nick had a few tourist traps lined up.

Isak shook his head. “Reading.”

“Anything good?”

“Maybe.” At this stage he always had to play it cool. He trusted Luke, but he knew that this could just be a ploy to get him to bite. He also didn’t want anyone sniffing it out over the weekend, if it turned out to actually be gold. Isak picked up his own bag and started collecting manuscripts.

“Nick, this is ready to go to Adam.” Isak handed him a note card to include in the mailing. “This should go out with my card,”—Isak followed with the bound manuscript—“and do you have those two submissions I sent to you?”

Nick lifted a stack of paper wrapped in rubber bands, still warm from the printer. “Thank you. Luke is calling early Monday on this one so read along if you’d like.” Nick smiled. Isak was good with sharing projects that Nick would actually enjoy, not just the slush pile, so Nick always tried to give a thorough opinion.

“Walk you out?” Isak offered his elbow to Gina.

“Such a gentleman. Nick, take note.”

“Good night, guys.” Nick dismissed them with a wave and the editors departed.

* * *

Isak shared a cab home with Gina, her treat. They both lived across the river, and she liked a little luxury on her Fridays. They stared at their phones in companionable silence for most of the ride, but once they reached the bridge, Gina attacked. “You know you owe me an update, right?” She said it with the same guilt trip she’s used with agents.

“Well, there is none. Sorry to disappoint.” Isak sighed, also disappointed in himself. He hadn’t made any progress with Charlie, one of their insanely talented cover designers, the object of a light crush. Gina had picked up on Isak’s flirtation during a bestseller celebration a few weeks ago and confronted him about it shortly after. She too had had her eye on him, despite his youth and (apparently) well-disguised homosexuality. “I can’t say the mock-up he made for me for my author meeting counted as a move.”

“You need to get out of the office. Properly ask him out.”

“I don’t know. It’s never a good idea to date someone you work with.”

“About 80% of publishing has dated each other and the world hasn’t imploded. We’ve gossiped aggressively, but that was just to stave off the boredom. I need something new.”

“Please tell me you’re not spreading this. It’s nothing.” Isak finally looked up from his phone.

“I’m spreading nothing,” she replied with a smug smile on her face.

“Fuck, Gina, what if he’s absolutely not interested? I come off as such a creep. Desperate.”

“I’ve been called worse. You’ll be fine.” She patted his knee. “Besides, this will make the holiday party actually interesting this year.”

Isak saw flashes of him literally chasing Charlie around the office, shrouded in garland and sloshing a cocktail; he cringed. He wouldn’t put it past himself, especially if there was an open bar.

“Alright darling.” The cab was turning down his street and crawling to a stop. “See you Monday.”

“Thank you, Gina.” Isak dragged his bag out of the cab and slammed the door behind him. He heard Gina confirming her address for the driver before they pulled away.

Isak’s apartment was on the fourth floor, an absolute trudge at the end of the workweek. He made the slow climb, saying hello to the neighbor on his way out to walk their dog. He knew the dog’s name, Champ, but not the neighbor’s, though he doubted the neighbor knew his name either. He leaned against his door while he unlocked it.

It was a small one-bedroom, but it had a door to a skinny, private deck and high ceilings. The previous tenant had left behind a giant mirror that spanned the wall behind the couch in the living room, and that gave him more light and an icebreaker about the illusion of space when he had guests over. He hadn’t had a guest over in a while, hence Charlie, but when he had first moved in the private apartment earned back its rent when picking up guys in bars. _I don’t have any roommates_ whisper-shouted into a cute guy’s ear had a 100% success rate.

He wouldn’t have minded a roommate just then, someone to offer their leftovers or make the decision on what to put on the TV. Isak dropped his bag and keys on the coffee table with one hand and opened the fridge with the other. He closed it in the same go, knowing there wasn’t anything appetizing or easy on the shelves. Another night of delivery, then. He pulled out his phone and tapped in an order for some pasta and chicken, then walked to his bedroom. The sheets were still mussed from this morning’s missed-alarm scramble, but it looked terribly inviting nonetheless. He flopped himself onto the bed and fought the valiant fight of not falling asleep before his food arrived.

* * *

The weather report promised snow all weekend, which Isak appreciated. While he could always shrug off plans in favor of work, it seemed easier to do when the city was blanketed in snow. No one really wanted to travel anyway, just bundle up over their pajamas, step outside to marvel at the cleanliness of a fresh layer, and then scurry back indoors to their clanking radiators and steaming kettles. As fun as the day could have been, mutual cancellations were a gift of relief. Isak ventured out for a breakfast sandwich and coffee with the Saturday morning crowd, shuffling like a penguin along the slick sidewalks, then took them back to bed.

Up first was a nonfiction submission that Isak was willing to take a look at but wasn’t excited about. Matthew had encouraged him to consider more nonfiction for his list, to diversify and strengthen his editing style, but also to take advantage of the current trends. Half of the stuff he received, though, wasn’t substantial enough, or the topics were too hot to survive book publishing’s timeframe. It might have been an interesting read that kept him turning the pages, but would it still be interesting in another year? This one didn’t pass the test even though he read the whole proposal. He scribbled down some feedback on the coversheet, which he’d email to the agent later, and tossed it to the foot of his bed.

Next was the bound manuscript that Emily, a marketing manager, sent him to generate some early buzz. He remembered the novel from when it was on submission; Gina had it in and was raving about it at their editorial meeting, but it was preempted by another house. He was glad to see it was being given some early attention; it was always a bit upsetting when a book that you loved was ripped from your hands and buried at the bottom of a list. Isak swept the crumbs off his blanket and slid down to his side. He punched his pillow and curled around the manuscript, getting comfortable. It was easier to read—and felt more like a weekend—when he didn’t need to take notes.

He took a break when he was done with it. It was good, better than what he got from Gina’s description, so he felt a pang of pity for her. He’d have to thank Emily for sending it to him the next time he saw her. Isak slid out of bed and stretched, contemplating his body and trying to figure out if it was hungry. He had to do that sometimes, when he had spent too long in a different world. He had to remember what he had to care for in this one.

He checked his phone. There was a video message from Lea; she was chasing her dog around her tiny yard, trying to throw snowballs at it. They had had a snowstorm a few days ago, and he could tell it was already melting. Cute, he replied. Hope you’re well X. With no other notifications demanding a response he plugged his phone into the charger in the living room and left it behind. He had a bit more energy now compared to last night, so he headed to the kitchen to make something of whatever odds and ends he could find. A late lunch was better than none.

It was nearly four in the afternoon when he decided to dive into that Norwegian novel. The light was starting to fade outside, though the snow kept the city bright for a little while longer. Isak pulled the manuscript from his bed and took it to the couch. He plucked a pencil from the cup on the end table and started scribbling. He meant to ask Luke if this had been sold in Norwegian yet, or if he was trying to publish in English first, so he wrote down a reminder for later. Then he began it again.

**Day 301: I quit my job yesterday. My boss thought I was joking. He laughed, then asked if I was serious, then asked why. I lied. I’ll have to lie for another two weeks, as the news spreads and I have to answer to more people asking “Why?” And then maybe a little bit longer. Maybe for the rest of my life. I’ll have to lie to myself until I believe it. Until “I just don’t feel like this is my calling anymore” becomes the truth that dissolves my sister’s suicide into nothing.**


	2. Two

Isak couldn’t wait until Catherine called. He emailed Luke on Sunday night, unable to contain himself any longer. _Incredible. Call me on my cell._ He paced the apartment, bathroom to kitchen to living room to bedroom and back, not sure what to do with himself. He sat back down on the couch and started to read it for the third time.

He was back at Day 325 when Luke finally called. Isak knocked his phone off the table as he flailed to pick it up. “Shit.” He swiped it open on the last ring.

“Luke, hi.”

“What did I tell you?”

“I need it.”

“Hold on. Talk to me for a minute first. My in-laws are taking their sweet-ass time with their appetizers so I have a few minutes to kill.” Isak could hear the bustle of a restaurant in the background.

“Is it real?”

“No, Even doesn’t have a sister.”

“Jesus, it felt real. It felt like his diary. Like, I believe Mary exists. Existed. That she felt that way and did those things. I forgot I was following her through him.”

“It fucks with you. And the time--?”

“The time jumps! Absolutely seamless! I couldn’t tell if it was now or then or something in between but it didn’t matter. It didn’t fucking matter. Time doesn’t change anything.”

“I love this. You get it. And that ending…”

“Was great. It was a song. I had an idea for a little twist though, which I think it could handle. Something striking, but it won’t make the whole novel come crashing down once you get there. How is he with edits?”

“Good, I think. I didn’t give him too much when I first read it, but he took them all for his revision.”

Even sounded like a dream.

“I’m not going to promise anything because I haven’t talked to Matthew yet but…I mean, I want this on my fall list.”

“A September debut? Didn’t you already launch that list though?”

“Last week. We still have some time.”

“I don’t know man, I think Even needs a longer introduction. He’s not part of the crowd yet.”

Isak hated that: the literary crowd, the city’s clique of writers and reviewers that everyone counted on to deem a book or an author “good enough,” and worthy of their promotion. It required an amazing amount of privilege and connections to gain entree, which turned Isak off to it once he realized. The first few years at his job he was bending over backward for that crowd, and he had earned a solid footing on the scene in return, but it started to wear on him after a while.

“You don’t think making him 'literary' would limit him?”

“I’m not sure I’d be making him literary. I haven’t met the guy but if he writes like this, in two languages, then how much work will I need to do? He said he’s moving to the city next month.”

“For this?”

“Yeah. He’s committed.”

“Shit.”

“What, too snooty for you?” Luke knew how Isak felt about the crowd.

“No, I’m just impressed. I love the book but man…don’t quit your day job.”

“He has to find one first. Anyway, he’s visiting next week, looking for an apartment. I don’t think I’m going to take a preempt, so we’ll do meetings. I’ll have Catherine and Nick set up a date.”

“Oh come on. What was the point of the weekend if I can’t offer?”

“You can offer. I’ll consider it. But I also want to see everyone fighting for this guy. He deserves it.”

“You’re a good man, Luke. I don’t like it, but you’re good.”

Luke laughed. “Let me know what Matthew says.”

Isak hung up. He stared at the novel splayed out on the table, the notes in the margins from his second reading. It was perfect. Not perfect in the absolute sense, but so good that Isak could see how little it would need to be even better. Maybe he didn’t need to change the ending, but it was nice to know Even would be open to it. Isak shuffled the pages back into a stack and set it aside. He slid his laptop into its place and logged into his work email. He was glad to see a report from Nick, who had also enjoyed Even’s manuscript. He read through Nick’s notes, nodding along at what he picked up, and then forwarded it to Matthew with a few of his own notes on top. Matthew wasn’t one to drag himself through reader reports; he trusted his editors. But Isak wanted to put as much ammunition behind this as he could. He attached the first 50 pages for Matthew to get a taste and sent it off.

Isak stood and went to the door to the deck. He knew he should open it and sweep away the snow that had piled up, so it wouldn’t freeze the door shut overnight. But he didn’t move to get the broom. He looked out the window, at the yellow glow from the apartments across the way and up to the deep navy darkness above it. He thought about the sister.

* * *

Isak was excited for the editorial meeting on Tuesday. He enjoyed them, generally, getting to hear about everyone else’s submissions and which authors they were chasing, but it was always more fun when he had something to share. He followed Gina, Nick, and Paul to the conference room.

Isak was new to the table, earning a seat just over a year ago with his promotion. The editorial assistants were lined up around the edge of the room in folding chairs, taking notes on what the executives asked for and trying not to make their legs squeak against the plastic. That’s where Isak had started, but he moved up to a proper swivel chair in due time. Now he was eye-level with his fellow editors, Matthew, and the heads of sales, publicity, and marketing. They were the ones who had to buy the book first.

When it was his turn he launched right in. “Luke sent me this on Friday, a debut novel from a guy in Norway. I read it twice over the weekend and think it’s just fantastic. It’s in the style of a diary but not written down, just daily updates by a young man who is trying to cope with his sister’s suicide. It starts almost a year after she’s killed herself and you follow him as he continues his life and reflects on his sister, his relationship with her, her mental illness, who she was. It goes through the first anniversary of her death, and you feel like Mary, the sister, dies all over again. But by the end you understand. You understand Mary and the narrator, and it feels very…real. Quite haunting. I think people will come to it equally for the engaging style and the quiet plot.”

“Does the narrator have a name?” Alicia, another senior editor, inquired.

“No. You don’t get too much detail up front, most of it comes out in relation to Mary. But he never reveals his name.”

“Sounds interesting. Mental illness is big right now.”

Isak prickled but tried to keep his reaction neutral. Matthew cleared his throat.

“I dipped in and agree, it’s very well-written. I know Luke has it out wide now, and I’m starting to hear things.” Matthew had joined Isak’s side by Monday morning, letting him attempt a preempt with a confident offer. Luke had declined though, as he predicted. Lucky for Isak that made Matthew more intent on getting it.

“Yes, Luke has great expectations for this. I think he’ll do best bids, but he’s taking meetings first.” Isak leaned over to glance at Nick, who caught his silent question.

“Luke is bringing him in on Thursday,” Nick announced from his corner.

“Do you need us there?” Theresa, the head of Publicity, asked. Someone from Marketing and Publicity usually joined author meetings when they were trying to impress, and this meant they’d only have two days to get a read on the manuscript and a rough angle on their campaigns.

“No, Luke doesn’t want a dog and pony show. He’s more interested in getting the author to connect with an editor. Besides, it’s pretty short notice.”

Theresa nodded, relieved.

“I’ll try to finish it by Thursday.” Mathew took control of the meeting flow. “Anything else?”

Isak shook his head and the attention turned to Gina next to him.

* * *

Isak was late to work on Thursday because he couldn’t decide what suit to wear. He had stayed up late the night before giving the manuscript another read-through, reminding himself of the questions he had and the compliments he wanted to pay. This made his usual morning scramble more difficult, compounded by his dissatisfaction with every piece of clothing he had crammed into his too-small closet. Eventually he settled on a classic look, nothing too flashy, but not boring either: crisp white shirt, black pants, shined shoes, and a hint of embroidery on the jacket. He received a nod of approval from Nick when he finally arrived at the office.

Nick followed Isak to his desk. “Do you want me to sit in? I might have a conflict.”

Isak waved him off. “No, thank you. I’m going to mention some of the things you brought up but I don’t need you there.” He hung up his scarf and coat and glanced at his desk.

“Okay, great. I reserved conference room D for you. The only thing else you have today is the marketing meeting, and we’re expecting Julia to deliver, if she finally gets her shit together.”

“Five dollars says we don’t see anything before 7.”

“Are you kidding me? She’s missed every single one of her deadlines. I’m not taking that bet.”

Isak laughed. He wouldn’t have taken it either, even if it was just five bucks. He still had hope for delivery though, because her publication schedule was already running tight and she would need all the time she could get down the line. Nick disappeared and Isak spent the next two hours shaking his leg under his desk.

* * *

Isak nearly jumped when Annie called. He let Nick pick up the line while he pulled on his jacket and scooped up the manuscript. “He’s here!” Nick called through the glass.

“Thank you,” Isak replied as he stepped out. “Wish me luck.”

“Go get ‘em, tiger.”

They had been working together for a couple of years now, but Isak still wasn’t used to some of Nick’s phrases. This one came with an enthusiastic air pump though, which made him smile. Isak straightened his tie as he walked to the lobby, head held high. He was never totally ready for these kinds of meetings, always a little nervous, but it was the good kind of nervous that kept him alert and impressive.

He spotted Luke as he approached, and the man he assumed was Even was bent over the reception desk behind him. Annie was smiling fondly; he heard her laugh. “Isak!” Luke announced, when he caught his eye.

“Luke.” Isak stretched out his hand as he made the last few steps, focusing on Luke and giving him a hearty shake. When Even stood up straight and turned to face Isak, his hand went limp.

“Hello.”

Gold. Butter. A rich, deep, greeting with only a hint of an accent.

Isak swallowed hard and felt his palm start to sweat. Luke let go of his hand to do the introductions. “Isak, this is Even. Even, this is Isak. He’s a senior editor here at Canfield and the first person I sent your book to.” Isak’s muscle memory shifted his arm in Even’s direction; he was still in shock and barely keeping his mouth from falling open. Even grasped his hand in both of his, giving a warm squeeze instead of a shake.

“Nice to meet you Isak.”

“You too.” He noticed how Even’s fingers lingered as he pulled his hand away. “Um, well, we should step into a conference room.”

Annie flashed them another smile as they walked back down the hall, Isak leading the way to conference room D. He tried to subtly wipe his hands on his pants before opening the door and ushering them into the small room.

“Cozy,” Even commented as they filled the space. Nick had prepared: there were chilled bottles of water on the table and extra pens and notepads. Luke and Even shrugged off their winter coats and took seats at the corner. Isak sat opposite.

“So, if it weren’t obvious already, I’m absolutely in love with your book. I haven’t read anything like it in a long time, something that is so engaging, insightful, and graceful for such a heavy topic. I fell in love with Mary and wished so badly that what happened wouldn’t, even though we know it will from page one.”

Even nodded slowly with a light smile, taking the compliments in silence. Luke leaned back and let Isak rehash what he’d already read in Isak’s lengthy email. He didn’t interrupt until he felt Isak winding down. “All that said, he agrees with me that the title needs to change.”

Even laughed, and the way his smile spread across his face sent a jolt through Isak. He realized that even if he couldn’t have heard the laugh he still would have felt it.

“I understand. It makes more sense in Norwegian, doesn’t translate well. I’m open to suggestions.”

“The title would probably be the last thing to change. Once we see how the novel evolves we’ll see what fits best, and how different people respond to it.”

“Makes sense. What did you think of the ending? Luke mentioned…” Even slid his forearms onto the table and leaned in.

“Ah, yes, well…” Isak leaned forward as well, getting more comfortable with the direction of the conversation, the art of the novel. He tread lightly though, not wanting to force Even into a drastic overhaul, rather give him other options to consider. Isak had a preference for closure in novels, and he suggested ways to enhance that so the reader didn’t feel at a total loss by the end. “…which is to say, you did that extremely well. Every time I finished I…I couldn’t function. It took me a while to return to my self. But maybe, with that small addition, it would soften the blow a bit.”

“An out-of-body experience. I’m taking that as a compliment,” Luke chuckled.

“Please do.”

“Except, like you said before, the reality, the rawness was key. I think trying to add closure would undermine that.” Even reached over and tugged the manuscript to his side of the table. He flipped to the last few pages. Isak watched as Even tried to read his sloppy notes, and hoped he hadn’t written anything offensive or too personal. “So like, here, adding a paragraph?” Even spun the page back to Isak, holding his finger on the page.

“Sure. We could also brainstorm something subtler. I certainly don’t want to undermine the truth of the emotions that you give the reader, I just want to give them something that will help the story last longer, that will make it stick with them. A twist, a discovery at the very end, will make the reader feel even more involved, planting them firmly in the narrator’s shoes.”

Even leaned back then, matching Luke’s position to appraise Isak’s advice. “I think I’d have to take some time with that.”

“Of course. That’s what this is all about.”

After another moment of contemplation Even returned to the table, flipping more pages. Isak talked him through some more of his notes, and Even grabbed a pen to rewrite lines on the spot. They went back and forth for a while.

“I hate to break up the party, gentlemen, but I’m afraid our hour is up.” Luke stood, ending the meeting. Isak checked his watch, realizing that they’d been talking for nearly two hours.

“I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t delay your lunch.”

“No, no, I’d rather have this than an overpriced salad. Much more filling.” Even stood as well, shuffling the pages back in order.

“We’re going to grab something quick before we head uptown.”

“A full day, huh?” Isak asked, trying to draw some details out of the agent. He knew now that Luke had sent it to a much longer list, which made Isak less confident in his chances.

“Two more, plus a dinner,” Even rattled off, without looking up. Isak caught Luke’s small cringe at the overshare.

“I didn’t know dinner was on the table!” Isak feigned offense. He didn’t think a dinner would have done much for his first impression, and they certainly wouldn’t have jumped right into the manuscript if they were in a poorly-lit restaurant surrounded by curious ears. Even, on looks alone, was sure to attract attention.

“I didn’t know your expense account could handle it,” Luke jabbed. They all laughed. Isak tidied the table while Even and Luke put on their coats, and then led them back to the lobby.

“Well, thank you for your time, Isak. We both appreciate your thoughtful review.”

Isak gave a sharp nod and patted the manuscript. “I’ll have Nick scan your notes and send them over this afternoon.”

“Wonderful. I think I’ll be in touch Monday, with the rules.” Luke offered his hand and they shook; Even followed suit. Isak was glad his palms weren’t sweaty this time.

“Nice to meet you, Isak.” Isak nodded again, and smiled. Even looked over his shoulder at Annie and gave her a wave. “Annie.”

“Safe travels, Even!”

Isak watched them leave. He could hear them start talking as soon as the glass door closed, but it was unintelligible, and surely not meant to be heard by him. Luke punched the call button for the elevator. Before Isak had the mind to return to his office, or at least stop staring, Even turned around. His face softened into a smile when he saw Isak still standing there. Isak blushed at getting caught, turning to walk down the hallway before he remembered his office was in the other direction. He heard Even’s laugh as he spun back around and scurried away.

* * *

Nick scanned the pages with notes, which ended up being almost the entire manuscript. “That must’ve been some meeting,” he commented when he returned the stack of paper to Isak’s desk.

“It was definitely…different.” He hadn’t had an author meeting go that in depth before, at least not on the first go. Usually they were more like pitches, giving the author a feel for the house and a potential publishing plan, and a much lighter editorial review. Rarely did he invest so much time in a book that he hadn’t bought yet.

“Mean to ask, for the minutes, is this in translation?” Isak shook his head. “Great. I’m about to head out to lunch. Want anything?” Another shake.

Food? No. This book? Even? Yes.


	3. Three

Isak emailed Even’s notes late Thursday night, requesting that Luke forward them on and sending well wishes for their remaining meetings. Luke wordlessly cc’ed Even into the chain, still not revealing any details, and on Friday Isak woke up to a brief reply: _Tusen takk, Isak._ He stared at the message and sighed into his pillow.

At work he spent some time Googling Even’s email address to see if anything popped up, any social media or published work. He thought he found a private facebook profile but couldn’t confirm if it was actually him. There was also one short story posted by an online literary magazine that he wasn’t familiar with. He read it quickly, recognizing Even’s writing style even in the different format. He saved it to a PDF and dragged it, plus the manuscript, to a new file folder on his drive.

Just before lunch he decided to visit the Art department. Julia’s manuscript still hadn’t arrived, despite a brusque email from Isak that morning, and he had a weird nervous energy that he wanted to burn off. Their office cluster was much more colorful and inviting than the ones in Editorial, and where an assistant’s cubicle would have been there was a large countertop for hands-on crafts. On Fridays around 5 PM it became a bar featuring gifts sent from vendors. Isak had frequented it more often in his younger days.

“Hello, Isak. What can I help you with?” Rebecca, the soft-spoken art director, called him into her office. Isak dipped his hands into his pockets and leaned against the wall just inside.

“Oh nothing, just needed to get away from the inbox for a bit. What are you working on?”

Rebecca hooked her finger at him so he stepped in to look at her screen.

“Do you remember what cover we presented for the Boyd novel at conference?” Isak nodded. “Well Sales hated it. Some thought it was too dark, others thought it was too boring, and someone else even said it looked like a dirty romance.”

Isak didn’t understand why romance novels got so much flack. He had seen many a misleading cover in his career, and none of them were romances. If there was a half-naked man on the cover you were guaranteed a half-naked man in the story, and he certainly appreciated that. “That wasn’t a romance cover.”

“I know! It was subtle and sexy. But anyway, everyone had something to say. So I got a million different directions for feedback and basically had to start over. What do you think?” Rebecca clicked through a few files in InDesign, bringing up a wide variety of options. Isak hadn’t read the novel so he judged on aesthetic alone.

“I like the green one.”

“Me too! But who knows what they’ll go for. I’m giving them literally anything I can think of.”

“They’re all contenders. The red is a little bright on that one though.” He pointed at the thumbnail.

“Yeah. It’s a little orange on the screen but I’m going to use foil, so it’ll be more shine than like, a glare.”

“Oh, nice.”

Isak heard a sharp whistle and looked up. Charlie was waving at him from the office across from Rebecca’s.

“Oh right, Charlie has something he’s been wanting to show you. Well, show everyone, really.”

Isak excused himself, but walked slowly around the counter to disguise his eagerness. He greeted Charlie with a casual “’Sup?” and regretted it instantly.

“Look look look look look.” Isak moved around and stood over Charlie’s shoulder. On the screen was another book cover, but he had animated the stock photo of the person to make lewd gestures with its arm. Charlie was giggling, which made Isak laugh. He had a slightly juvenile sense of humor, but that just meant he had more fun at work than almost everyone else. “Do you think Matthew will go for it?”

“Oh definitely. Send it right to the printer.”

“I would actually do that if I knew it would get all the way to the store before anyone noticed.”

“I hope I’m still around to see whatever you do that gets you fired.”

“Aww, thanks man. I hope you’re still around too.” Charlie twisted around and smiled at Isak. It was a flirty smile, one that hung around a beat too long. Isak smiled back, then clapped Charlie on the shoulder.

“Make sure you do it on one of my books then!”

“Promise.” 

Isak walked away from the banter, nervous energy properly expelled.

* * *

Most of last weekend’s snow had melted by Saturday, but there was still a chill in the air and an occasional plowed pile wrapped around a fire hydrant. Isak suited up for a game with his football club down at the fields on Pier Six.

The football club had been the best way for Isak to make friends when he first moved to the city. He had bounced around apartments at the beginning, not getting a great feel for the tiny neighborhoods until he had settled down at his current place, so he wasn’t hanging out with anyone regularly, outside of work. He had overheard a publicity assistant mention their club one day, and then saw her leaving the office after changing into her shorts, cleats dangling from her backpack by their laces. He did some Googling to find a club for himself, something with men closer to his age and minimal athletic prowess (Isak wasn’t kidding himself), and joined one that met near his office a few months later. Eventually it became a bit of an inconvenience since they ended up playing only on the weekends, but Isak enjoyed the group and was willing to cross the river for a good workout and conversation. The post-game beers helped too.

They played every weekend as long as the fields were clear, and no one had called it off in the group text. Isak took the metro across the river and walked down to the pier, his breath clouding the air with every other step. When everyone who was coming had arrived they split into teams. There was an odd number, so Isak volunteered to sit out the first quarter. He ran laps around the field to keep warm while he waited.

On his third lap, after slowing to something more like a trot, he started to take in more of the scenery. The field wasn’t the only thing at the pier; there was a playground and a picnic area, and benches along the edge where men set up fishing rods and children threw pieces of bread into the water in the summer. It was sparsely populated on a day as cold as this, ice floes kicking against concrete, but a few brave folks were still out to enjoy the sun. Isak noticed the back of a tall man leaning over the railing and oddly thought he recognized its slope, and the way his legs buckled a bit as he rested his weight on one hip. He couldn’t place it, but it looked familiar. That happened sometimes though, a sense of déjà vu without actually having seen it before. Isak shook his head at himself and kept jogging.

Except, on the next lap, his eyes automatically sought out the man at the rail, and he was shocked with a flare of actual recognition. The man had turned; it was Even. And he was watching Isak as he ran. Isak felt his forehead wrinkle in confusion and the rest of his body completely ignore what was happening. He kept running, tearing his eyes away once he needed to look where he was going. When he had rounded two corners and could safely look back at the rail, Even gave him a small wave and started walking away.

“What?!” he huffed out, to no one in particular. He wasn’t entirely sure that had actually happened. Maybe he imagined it, some ridiculously powerful wishful thinking. Maybe he just looked eerily similar to Even, and was waving at someone else. _Yes,_ he rationalized. _My subconscious is just playing games._

One of his teammates called a time out, ending the first quarter. Isak cut across the field and high-fived Robert, tagging himself in. After a brief exchange of strategy the ball was back in play, and Isak’s focus narrowed down to just the physical game in front of him.

The next forty-five minutes kept Isak’s heart rate up and a small sting in his lungs as he gulped the cold air. He was on defense this time, lunging in front of strikers and trying to cut off their runs at the corners. His team lost though, and they all chalked it up to missing one of their usual players so no one present had to take the blame. Everyone congregated around their collection of gym bags to chug water and change their shoes.

Isak let himself drop to the ground next to his bag. He extended his legs to stretch them out but gave up on the actual stretching. He pulled out a bottle of water and his phone, sipping slowly as he caught up on his messages. Ellen, a friend who worked at PR firm in the city, offered a movie date, dinner optional. Her husband was away on business so she was taking the time to catch up with some people one-on-one. Isak accepted as long as it wasn’t a sugary romance, like the one with the aggressively pink advertising on what felt like every single cab in the city. Ellen was quick to make the deal, telling him which theater to meet her at at 8:30.

The rest of the group began to pull on their track pants and coats, debating which bar they should patronize. Every week they ended up at the same one but every week they still petitioned each other for the one that’s closest to their apartment. Isak waited for them to come to the usual decision, closing out of one app and opening another. He changed his shoes and hopped to his feet. “Have we voted on the Hall then?” he asked whoever could hear him. A snort and a chuckle answered. “Nice,” he muttered to himself.

Isak threw his coat and bag over his shoulder, not feeling the need to bundle up just yet. He continued to scroll through his phone while they all walked to the bar. With his digital social life sorted he finally opened his work email, saving the worst for last. Except the message at the top of his inbox, received almost an hour ago, was from Even. Isak froze.

_Hei Isak – I’m taking the redeye tonight. Is dinner still on the table?_


	4. Four

It pained him to do it, but Isak said no. It took him a whole thirty minutes and approximately five hundred drafts, but he finally typed a couple of sentences that he wasn’t disappointed in. _Hei Even – Unfortunately I have plans with a friend that I can’t cancel. When are you planning on returning to the city?_ It was true and hopeful, the most you could ask for in a rejection. He wanted to add a line asking if he was at Pier Six that morning, enjoying the view, but was afraid of the response; if he hadn’t been, then it would look like Isak was imagining things, or worse, creating fake conversation. Neither were good when you were trying to convince someone you were the right editor for their project.

As the day went on, through a couple of rounds at the bar, a few more hours at the laundromat, then a shower before his movie date, Isak thought of every possible scenario that led up to Even’s email and every possible outcome from each of his drafts. They ranged from an exclusively professional dinner where they continued to brainstorm edits on the novel, barely paying attention to their food, all the way to a steamy hook-up in a restaurant bathroom between courses. He made himself blush with the abundant fantasies at the latter end of the spectrum, but at least he wasn’t confused about it. He was definitely attracted to that lanky Norwegian with his radiant smile, golden hair, and mind-blowing way with words. The bubbles burst, of course, when Isak remembered why they had even met in the first place: Isak wanted to buy his book. Isak wanted to publish him. Isak, first and foremost, wanted to be his editor, not a quick fuck before he jetted back to Norway.

Though he certainly wouldn’t mind if he could have it both ways.

He came to his senses on the metro ride to meet Ellen. As much as he was building up his attraction to Even, that strange way a crush feeds on itself, he had absolutely no idea if the attraction was mutual. He automatically thought Even’s invitation was extended romantically but he was probably just projecting his own desires. Even was stuck in the city for the evening before he could catch his flight, and was reaching out to whomever he knew to pass the time. They both knew Isak would’ve been able to expense the dinner too. So that was it: a pragmatic move, and rather smart now that Isak had cleared his delusions. Isak took it further: perhaps Even had picked up on his crush the way Gina and Charlie had, and was capitalizing on it for a better offer on his book.

Isak shook his head at himself as he stepped above ground. He was being naïve, and needed to stick to realistic expectations. They were in the middle of a business negotiation, after all. They were both trying to sell themselves to each other. As cell service returned to his phone (underground wifi was one of the most persistent lies the city told) a couple of emails chimed in. He stepped out of the flow of foot traffic to open them. Matthew had reviewed the P&L and gave him the okay on his offer, with an extra $10,000 to increase if he needed it. Isak was glad that he was letting him fight. His smile dropped when he saw the next email though, from Even: _As soon as possible X_

This was not what he needed. This is the exact opposite of what he needed. He shoved his phone back in his pocket and stomped off to the theater. “I am a professional book editor. I don’t need this shit,” he grumbled to himself on the way, making whoever passed him think that hallucinating homeless people were starting to dress pretty well.

Ellen gave him a hug in the lobby and then they broke away to buy their tickets. When they reconvened at the concession stand Ellen gave him a concerned glance. “What’s wrong?”

“Hmm?”

“You have an absolutely dour look on your face.”

“Oh, no.” He tried to rearrange his features into something more pleasant. “Just an auction that isn’t going my way.”

“You’re still in it though, right?”

“I think so.”

“Don’t lose hope yet, then. Do you think this is the one?”

Isak whipped around, spilling some of the popcorn from the bag he just picked up. “What?!”

“The big one, that book that defines your career.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t thought about that. He hadn’t thought about the success or fame of a pivotal publication, at least not as a target. It was implied in his desire to get as many people reading the story as possible, but that wasn’t the driving force for Isak. He knew he had to bring it into existence, and he believed in its beauty so purely that he could just assume that meant people would read it cover to cover. That, of course, was naïve to think, which was becoming a worrying trend. “That would be nice, but probably not. I don’t think there is ever one book that does that.”

“That’s what everyone says until they find the one.”

Isak laughed. They walked down a long hallway to their theater. Ellen led them down near the front and they shuffled down a row to the center. “I forgot how tall you are,” she muttered as they collapsed into their seats. “Will your neck be okay?” Isak smirked as he shimmied down.

“Yeah, this is fine.” He propped his knees up against the empty seat in front of him, cradling his popcorn on his belly.

“God, you look like a teenager at a mall.”

Isak had kept his coat on and his body had shrunk into his hoodie like a turtle. “Wait wait wait.” He pulled out his phone and started tapping on the screen in an exaggerated fashion.

“Yes, now you’re an actual teenager.” Ellen grabbed a piece of popcorn from his bag and tossed it at his face. Isak flinched but let it remain where it had fallen on his chest. His tapping had opened up his email again, and Even’s latest message was staring back at him. He considered it.

“Hey,” he whispered to Ellen. She turned to face him in the half-light of the theater. Isak expanded the email thread. “Does this sound flirty to you?” Ellen’s lips moved as she read the exchange.

“Who is it?”

“Just a guy I met on Thursday.”

“Mmm, kind of. Might depend on how he talks in person. That X though…is he British?”

“Norwegian.”

“Well that doesn’t clarify anything for me. I don’t know. If he is being flirty, it’s a very controlled flirt. Which almost feels more aggressive to me. But you’re also asking the opinion of a married woman. I haven’t seen live flirting in ten years.”

“You only got married like, three years ago.”

“I know.”

Isak chuckled, returning to his phone. The trailers had finished and the lights descended to full darkness. Against his better judgment, and under pressure from the theater’s warning against cell phones and talking, he fired back a response before he could think any more about it. _Rain check._

* * *

Luke’s terms came in bright and early on Monday. Best bids for Even’s novel were due by 3 PM on Tuesday.

“That’s nice. You’ll know if you got it right before we all get sloshed.” Gina crunched on her carrot stick and hummus, leaning back dangerously far in her chair. “He’d better not demand a check before the end of the year.”

“You think I’ll get it?” He was having waves of doubt, and kept stopping to talk through it with Gina. The offer was waiting in his email drafts just in case he needed to make a last-minute change.

“You’re not going in totally blind, and Matthew gave you a great number. You said the meeting went really well, so yeah. Even if it isn’t enough, under-bidders win too.”

Isak listened as she told him the story of the Warsaw trilogy, which she would’ve lost on money alone, but the author liked her so much that she was willing to take the lower offer in exchange for a better publishing experience. It was the second time she’d spun the tale that day but Isak didn’t mind; it did soothe his nerves. The Warsaw trilogy, which Gina finished publishing a few years ago, was a jewel in her crown. Isak looked at the wall behind her, where she had hung the beautiful hardcover designs in a triptych.

“It’ll be fine, Isak.” She crunched. “Now let’s talk about the after-party options.”

Their holiday party was going to start at 4 PM on their floor. Food and drink stations were being set up by caterers in the conference rooms, and a last-minute party planning committee, mostly assistants, were taping garland and paper snowflakes on random flat surfaces. Most employees made a decent showing, filling up on the free alcohol and tepid conversation for about an hour, and then groups would form and hit up the pubs scattered in the neighborhood. There were usually a couple of executives in each group feeling generous (on behalf of the company) for a few rounds, making sure their departments were actually having fun. They would close out at a decent hour though, heading off to dinner reservations and family commitments, and the assistants would move on to a karaoke bar on their own. It was a well-choreographed dance each year, the best part being the gossip the next day, finding out which executives let loose and how many bad decisions their staff made.

Both Isak and Gina were on the border of the executive crowd and the assistants. Gina thought she was too cool, young at heart, to retire before midnight, so they got the best of both worlds: Gina kept her tab open and they queued up Celine Dion in a private room.

“Oh you know we’re just going to do the same thing as last year.”

“We should eat more this year though. Really fill up. I saw them throw away so much food….” Her voice faded as if in mourning, but then she perked up. “Do you think Matthew will make another speech?”

“I hope not. He didn’t actually say anything, just stopped us from drinking for ten minutes.”

Isak loved Matthew, but his personality was a little too casual for public speaking. He had bumbled his way through a speech, unprepared, and stuttering so much that some employees started a rumor that he was an alcoholic and had gone too far. Anyone who talked to Matthew semi-regularly could tell he was just nervous in front of the crowd, but there were parts of the company that didn’t know him beyond the name on his office door. He didn’t want that rumor starting up again.

“Good point. More time to drink, more time to flirt.” Gina wiggled her eyebrows, another carrot clamped between her teeth like a cigar.

“Please don’t, Gina, you’re going to get me in trouble.”

“You’re going to get yourself in trouble! And if you don’t I’ll consider you an utter failure.”

“Well, then…Happy Christmas.” Isak mimed setting a gift down on her desk. She pouted.

“I just want you to have a good time, Isak. You’ve been single the entire time I’ve known you.”

“And you think Charlie is going to change that?” Isak realized too late how loud his voice was. He leaned out Gina’s door to see if anyone had heard. All he saw was the back of Nick’s head, and he had headphones on. When he straightened up he saw Gina shrug.

“It’ll get the ball rolling, I’m sure.” She waited a beat and then started giggling.

“You’re disgusting. I’m going to go…buy an amazing book.”

“Yeah you are!” Gina raised another carrot with her cheer. Isak walked back to his office with purpose and opened up his drafts folder. It was still a little earlier than he had planned on sending it, but he realized another half an hour wasn’t going to make much of a difference. He read through his offer one last time, and then with a click it was gone.

* * *

The Art department was wearing matching Christmas sweaters. They walked the floor in a line of green and red, posing for pictures and occasionally breaking out into song. It was only 5 PM. Isak was hanging out in conference room B tasting the cheese boards and passing silent judgment. It was a decent distraction, though the beer was doing a better job. When the Art department arrived, decimating the cracker towers, Isak stepped back into the corner and let them have at it. Rebecca floated over to him with a bunch of grapes in her hand, plucking them off with her mouth. “I think those are for display,” Isak gestured at the grapes with his beer bottle.

“No, they’re real. You can eat everything here.”

“Ah, good to know.”

“Hey I heard about your book. I’m sorry. It sounded really interesting.”

Isak nodded into his chest. “Thanks, it was. It is. I’m bummed, but it’s in good hands.”

“Do you know who won?”

“Laurel over at BMG.” 

Rebecca tilted her head. She wasn’t familiar with all of the editors at other houses, but she tried to tie the name to an imprint, and thus to an art director. “Maybe Joseph will work on it. He’s good.”

“If you could choose one designer for that book, who would it be?”

“Uh, me, of course.”

“Of course. But who at BMG?”

“Ah…hmmm. I mean, Joseph _is_ very good. But he has a pretty specific style. I didn’t read the manuscript so I’m not sure if he’d be a good fit.” Rebecca dropped the remainder of her grapes on the table, trying to focus on Isak’s task. “Oh wait, Charlie!” She yelled his name and waved him over when he looked up. “Charlie read it.”

“You read it?” Isak asked as Charlie approached.

“The suicide book? Yeah.” Isak prickled again, uncomfortable with how the story was being reduced, but knew it was inevitable. It was nice of Charlie to take the time to read it.

“Do you think Joseph would be a good designer for it?” Rebecca looked up at him.

“Did we not win?”

Isak shook his head.

“Ah, sorry dude. It was a really good story.” Charlie landed a soft punch on Isak’s shoulder. It felt awkward. “Matthew sent it to me and wanted me to start sketching. I didn’t get very far, though I guess that’s for the best.”

It was rare for a designer to work on a book that hadn’t been bought yet, and Isak could only think of it happening once before during his time there. Matthew was trying to poach an author from another house, after hearing grumblings of dissatisfaction, and Rebecca had to design a new look for the author’s latest series. They pitched a fresh start at Canfield, presenting how everything would be done—all they needed was the author’s words to slip behind a fully designed cover. Isak was flattered that Matthew had asked for that for Even’s book. He was also glad that Charlie hadn’t wasted too much time on it.

“Anyway, yeah, Joseph would be good. But Chrissy would knock it out of the park.”

“Chrissy!” Rebecca slapped her hand to her forehead. “Duh. Yes, Chrissy would be perfect.”

Isak nodded, making a mental note to pass that along to Luke. “Thanks guys. It deserves a good cover.”

“You sound like it’s a puppy that you had to give up.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes it feels like that.”

Rebecca felt Isak’s sorrow and rubbed her hand along his upper arm. “There will be other puppies. Cuter puppies.” He appreciated the condolences but had to laugh at the extended metaphor.

“Literary puppies.”

“Critically acclaimed puppies.”

“Puppies that don’t earn out.”

“Pulitzer Prize-winning puppies.”

They took turns trading jokes, making fun of the process that was causing Isak such pain. Eventually it evolved into something else—they were trying to think of different dog breeds—and when another designer asked what they were talking about they couldn’t explain. Isak was giggling though, a nice change from the past few hours. The whole group shifted to another conference room in search of more drinks.

* * *

By 1 AM Isak had lost his voice. He had stuck with the Art department, keeping pace with them, and when they ventured out to a bar he followed. A couple of publicity assistants joined. They played arcade games for hours, making their way through pitchers of beer and plates piled high with nachos. They yelled when they won and yelled when they lost, beating records and then losing them almost immediately. Charlie kept challenging him to games of skee-ball. When he lost his voice he had to resort to squeaks of laughter and gently shoving Charlie for punctuation. Once Charlie had proven his superior skill (and they needed more beer), they returned to the booth, bumping each other as they slid across the vinyl.

“What’s next?” Charlie asked as he poured fresh cups.

Isak watched Rebecca sitting across from them. She was deep in conversation with another designer, and he could tell she was struggling with her speech. Her mouth moved slowly while her eyes flitted around the room. Isak felt like her mouth. The realization made him giggle again.

“What’s so funny?” Charlie leaned into him. Isak waved it away with his hand.

“I’m just being stupid.” As he said it, or tried to say it, he realized his own mouth was moving slowly too. And brain. And everything. Maybe it wasn’t Rebecca; maybe it was just him. He looked at Charlie. He was gulping down beer, but put his cup down when he caught Isak’s gaze. His tongue ran across his upper lip to catch the foam.

“Want to get out of here?”

Isak didn’t answer. He didn’t even begin to process an answer. He just glanced at Charlie’s lips. Then he looked at Rebecca.

“She won’t notice. Come on.” Charlie started hopping his way out of the booth, pushing Isak along and using their coats as a plow. He stumbled to his feet. He must have had a shocked look on his face, because Charlie hissed, “Be cool,” into his shoulder as he moved around him.

Isak twirled around, looking for something to focus on and, as Charlie said, something to help him be cool. He walked over to the bar, squeezing in above people’s shoulders, and flagged down a bartender. He flicked out his credit card. “Please clear Rebecca Charlston’s tab with this. Charlston.” Was he actually enunciating? Who knew. The bartender took the credit card though, and Isak took the few moments surrounded by strangers to clear his head. This was happening.

When the bartender returned his card, Isak spun around and took a quick sweep of the room. He didn’t see Charlie, so he danced his way around clusters of people until he reached the door and the crisp winter night. He found Charlie at the edge of the sidewalk, leaning into the street. His arm shot up when he caught sight of a cab light. Isak walked up to him, and when Charlie turned to start looking for him he was startled.

“Sorry,” Isak mumbled.

“You’re fine. Thought I’d lost you. Get in.” Charlie’s arm went around Isak as he ushered him to the open door of the cab. His hand pressed against Isak’s back, high enough not to raise suspicion from any coworkers who might be outside on a cigarette break. He didn’t know where they were going so he slid silently into the dark of the backseat. “Clifton Avenue off of Main, please,” Charlie announced as he checked his phone and closed the door behind him.

Isak recognized the cross streets. He was impressed. As the cab pulled away they fell back against the seat. Isak let his head drop to his right shoulder; he watched Charlie’s profile as it was bathed in the city’s neon. When he was done with his phone Charlie twisted to face Isak. Without a word he leaned into him and pressed a soft, closed kiss against Isak’s lips. Again, Isak couldn’t answer. Charlie pulled back a few inches and waited though.

“I thought…” Charlie whispered, barely audible above the noise of the traffic and the blood pumping through Isak’s ears.

“Yeah, you were right.” He was just slow. He answered.


	5. Five

“I’m going to kill whoever put the holiday party on a Tuesday,” Isak grumbled to Nick as he slipped into his office.

“Where did you end up?”

“With Art at some bar with skee-ball.”

“Fun?”

Isak let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, a good time.” Nick gave him a look because it certainly didn’t sound like a good time, but he didn’t say anything. He placed Isak’s mail on his desk and reminded him about two submissions that needed responses.

“Oh and Marketing was asking for the latest cover direction for _Pool_. Has David seen it yet?”

Isak tried to remember if he had sent the two options that Rebecca designed to the author. He searched his inbox for emails from David. “Ah yes, he liked the outdoor version. Send that to them but make sure they know it’s not final.”

“Thank you.” Nick left, leaving Isak alone with his regrets. He replayed what he remembered for the fifth (Sixth? Seventh?) time that morning.

It was a good time. He had fun with the group and then he had fun in the cab and a hell of a lot of fun in the hallway leading to Charlie’s door. He made Charlie stop though, breaking away from his mouth and removing his hand from where it had snaked down into his pants.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“I’m fine with a bad idea.” Charlie lunged at his jaw with an open mouth.

“I’m flattered, but really. I need to go.” Isak stepped to the side and then turned to leave. He was almost to the staircase when he heard Charlie growl.

“Rain check, Isak.”

The demand made him freeze on the top step, but then he kept going. He had to, otherwise he wouldn’t. It was too easy to let Charlie be the distraction he wanted, now that he had reminded him of what he lost. Who he had lost. Isak sped up, thundering down the steps now, running away from his problem before he made it any bigger.

On the street he hailed a cab and wallowed in undeserved pity the whole way home.

* * *

His phone dragged him out of the sour memories from the night before. He picked up, recognizing Luke’s agency number. “I have Luke for you, Mr. Valtersen.”

“Uh, thanks.” He didn’t recognize the voice or the formality of the call. Luke clicked on the line. “What was that?”

“New girl. Catherine quit. We’re working on it.”

Isak moved on. “Is this a condolences call?”

“Sure. Rather than wait a few days for you to battle your pride I figured I’d break down the auction for you right away. Besides, I leave on holiday tomorrow.”

“I know Laurel won.”

“Correct. But I also think you should know, before it becomes BMG’s entire buzz campaign, that she was the under-bidder.”

Isak almost dropped his phone. His mouth went dry. “Was…was I the highest?”

“Yes.”

Isak tried to swallow and debated how much more he wanted to know, how much pain he could handle. More, apparently. “By how much?”

“You know I can’t—“

“Luke.” It came out like a strangled cry, a desperation unbecoming of an editor. It was enough to make Luke reveal confidential information.

“Forty thousand.”

“Fuck! Fuck. Fuck.”

“It was a very personal decision.”

“It must have been one hell of a decision to leave forty thousand dollars on the table, Luke. Fuck.” Isak ran his hand through his hair, lost in disbelief. It was easy to understand why someone would choose another editor over you if they offered more money, but when money wasn’t the reason then Isak had no one else to blame but himself. It was his fault entirely that Even had slipped away. “Shit.”

Luke was silent, allowing him to process it.

“Was it something I said? I thought the meeting was good, he wanted the notes…”

“I’m not sure. It was a great meeting. I thought he responded to you the most out of all of them, so I was a little shocked too. He did want me to tell you it was strictly personal though.”

“Not helping, Luke.” Isak chastised, then felt guilty for doing so. “Sorry. I appreciate you explaining.”

“I understand. We’ll do better next time. Now uh, I hate to run but I have a few other calls to make.”

Isak nodded, even though he knew Luke couldn’t see him. “Oh, wait, a request from me…and our Art department. Try to get Laurel to use Chrissy Ferguson for the cover. She’ll treat him well.”

“I will do that Isak, thank you.”

“Speak soon.”

Isak slowly hung up the phone. Being rejected for the second time in two days knocked the wind out of him, and he couldn’t do anything but sit there and hope he could breathe again, soon, eventually.

* * *

By Saturday Isak felt like he was over it. He’d lost many auctions before, and he knew he’d lose plenty more. He took comfort in knowing there would be more. There would be another Even that would make him nervous with a look and another Mary that would show him the meaning of life. The weekend lightened his mood, at least, letting him escape the office and leave the loss behind. He had a new stack of submissions waiting on his bed and a football game to win.

The teams were even this week, so Isak didn’t have to repeat his laps. He finished lacing his cleats and jogged out to the backfield. He lunged side to side until someone hollered for kick-off. He started off strong, taking control of the ball and sending it to the opposite goal.

A few minutes in though, when the offense was doing a decent job of keeping the ball at the other end of the field, Isak let his eyes wander to the edge of the pier. He scanned the rail for that same tall man, that vision of Even. Glancing between the ball and the water he took everything in, mentally pushing aside everyone who wasn’t him.

Isak knew the odds were small. Not only was he hoping the man was actually Even, but he was hoping he’d be back from Norway less than a week after he had left, and waiting for him on the pier. He tried to remember what the rules were for tourist visas, or if Even would be on a business visa. And then he realized how obsessed he was getting, trying to figure out his visa situation. He shook his head at himself and retrained his eyes on the field.

Besides, what would he say?

“Isak!” A teammate yelled, snapping him back to the game. The ball sailed past him, another man charging in its wake.

* * *

An hour later and Isak was apologizing to his teammates as they trudged off the field. “Sorry, I’ve been a little distracted lately.”

“That’s fine, man. Everyone has their days.” One of them slapped him on his back in a terribly masculine show of sympathy. “I’m making you pay for my beer though.”

“The first one, or all twenty?” Isak shot back, and then everyone joined in, ribbing him for his drinking habits.

Isak dropped to the ground to drink water, stretch, and remove his cleats. He didn’t look up until he saw a pair of running shoes stop next to his knee and felt a shadow fall across his shoulders. He looked up, expecting a teammate to ask him about the bar.

It was not a teammate asking him about the bar.

“Even.” Isak choked on his name as if it had been living in his throat for the past week.

“Hello, Isak. I’m back.” Even reached out his hand so he could help Isak to his feet. But Isak just stared at it, unmoving. Even retracted his hand when it was clear that he wasn’t going to take it. A few teammates turned to look at the stranger in their midst.

Even took a couple steps back, worried by Isak’s reaction that he was being somehow inappropriate. The movement spurred Isak into action; he jumped to his feet. “That was…fast.”

Now it was Even’s turn to look confused.

“Your trip.”

“Ah, right, well it turns out packing up my whole life took less time than I thought.”

Once the teammates realized Isak actually knew the stranger they returned to their post-game plans.

“Have you moved to the city then?”

“Almost. I’m in a sublet right now, and will get my apartment on the second.” Even tucked his hands into his sweatpants, and Isak then noticed he was wearing workout clothes.

“Do you play?”

Even twisted around to look at the field. “Ah, no. I run. Early in the morning, usually, but on the weekends it’s harder to get out of bed.”

“Hah, yeah, if this club met any earlier I wouldn’t be in it.”

“Do you play every Saturday?” Isak nodded. “What do you do after?”

Isak turned to look at his teammates, who were further along in packing up their stuff and heading out. “We go to a bar, have lunch.”

“Oh, well don’t let me keep you.” Even bent down to pick up Isak’s bag. Isak grabbed it from his hands quickly.

“Thanks.” Isak felt weird, knowing he had been all worked up about Even and now he was here, perfectly casual and polite. He felt like Even knew, or could sense how much power he had right then, but had absolutely no care for it. He packed his cleats and water, shoving his feet into his sneakers and staring at the turf the whole time.

“So, uh, do you have dinner plans tonight?”

“I do.” He didn’t. Isak stood.

“Oh. Well, I think we should still have dinner sometime. I want to talk to you about the book.”

“Sure, but I’m not your editor.” Isak regretted his salty tone the instant it came out of his mouth. He saw a flicker of something strike Even’s face. Sadness? Disappointment? Whatever it was was wiped away with a lopsided grin immediately. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. But can we talk about it?”

“Alright.”

“Great. I’ll email you. They’re leaving.” Even pointed over Isak’s shoulder. He turned to see his team halfway up the next block.

“Oh. Okay. Uh…bye.” He gave Even half a wave and jogged away. Once he had caught up with the group he paused to look back at the pier. Even was still standing there, and he finally returned Isak’s wave. Seeing that confirmed Isak’s initial vision, that it had been Even last week too. He had been there, and now he was back.

Isak spent another afternoon at the pub agonizing over an email from Even.

* * *

He didn’t get around to his submissions on Saturday; he had an urge to make those dinner plans he had lied about so he spent the afternoon calling around and asking people out. There was a new restaurant in his neighborhood and he earned a dinner date when he whimpered about having to go it alone.

The restaurant was decent, with a good amount of self-awareness and serving sizes that gave him leftovers for the next day. Isak heated up his salmon and was relieved it didn’t dry out. He made himself comfortable on the couch with his iPad and food. Over the next three hours he read three proposals and figured out how to reject two. He logged into his work email to request more for the third. After that was done he clicked around the internet for another hour, weaving through everyone’s holiday promotions and end-of-year posts. Isak didn’t keep up with the fast pace of the internet like the media world demanded, but he also wasn’t the one forwarding stale news with “OMG did you see this?” comments. He was at a happy medium, not overwhelmed by the next evolution of a twitter joke but also not that editor who wanted to print memes on paper. At least not anymore.

One of his favorite bookstores across the river was hosting a marathon reading of _A Christmas Carol_ , and their last-minute post about it caught his eye. He checked the time; it had already started, but was scheduled to go until 6:30. He scrolled through the list of authors participating and once he found a few of his own he decided to head over. It was always good to be the supportive editor, not just the nagging-over-email editor, and he could use a dose of the Christmas spirit. He changed into jeans and a Fair Isle sweater, wrapping his neck in an oversized scarf for good measure, and took the metro to the bookstore.

Inside it was warm and quietly bustling. He walked delicately toward the back of the store, trying to avoid making the old wood floors creak with his weight, and took a seat in the rows of chairs arcing around the base of the staircase. About halfway up an author was holding a paperback and reading their assigned passage into a microphone. Some people watched them, their faces tilted up, but most looked at their laps or off into middle distance, focusing only on the author’s voice. Isak did the same, letting his chin dip into his scarf.

Aside from the beautiful design of the split-level space and the bookstore’s well-defined selection, Isak loved that he could feel the dedication of the place. It held the reverence of a library and the passion of people who loved stories, from the classics enjoyed each year to the new voices of writers starting their careers. If he could handle the mild level of disturbance that daily shoppers created he would spend his extra time in one of their armchairs editing. He couldn’t, though, so he settled for the occasional book launch or trivia night, and regularly took home books from their staff picks shelf.

He looked up when the voice changed and another author began the next chapter. They weren’t announced as to keep the transition smooth, but this meant Isak had to take a minute to remember where he had seen her face before. Maybe he had had her book in on submission and took a meeting. Or he had seen her in conversation with another author at a bookstore. It nagged him enough to pull out his phone and search for book titles that might connect him to an author name. She finished her reading before he solved his mystery, though, so he gave up.

As he was tucking away his phone the next voice flowed out of the mic, and Isak’s head snapped up to the steps. There was Even, cracking the spine on his paperback and looking…hot. Isak stopped listening to what he was reading and just stared. It had been almost a decade since he’d graduated, but he felt like he was lusting after his professor in the lecture hall, daydreaming about him while he was right there. Even didn’t look up while he read, which made it seem like he was reading the story to himself and just happened to be in front of a mic, above a crowd. He was relaxed, like he was truly enjoying the text and genuinely didn’t know what was coming on the next page. He told the room about The Ghost of Christmas Yet-to-Come with an authority and innocence that drew his audience closer. Or maybe it was just Isak shifting to the edge of his chair.

When Even finished he closed his book slowly and glanced at the crowd. Isak didn’t know if he saw him, but he recognized the hope he had that he did. His eyes followed Even as he walked down the steps. Even paused to whisper to the bookseller at the bottom who was managing the flow of authors, giving them a handshake and warm smile. Then he kept walking, weaving into Isak’s row and excusing himself as he stepped in front of a seated couple. Isak watched him approach and his mouth fell open as Even got closer. And then he was there. Even whispered a hello and took the spot next to Isak.

Isak found his voice, but it was gruff from the tension he felt run through his body. “That was good.”

“Thank you.” Even gave a brief nod, then turned his attention to the next reader. He looked the same as he had when he was reading: invested in the story and curious about Scrooge’s fate. It took Isak a while, but eventually he looked away.

* * *

“I don’t mean to sound like a broken record, but…dinner?” Even stood and swung his scarf around his neck. Isak stood too, pulling on his coat. The reading had ended with a round of applause, and the bookseller was encouraging people to pick up a deluxe illustrated edition of _A Christmas Carol_ on display. Isak checked his watch; they had finished on time.

“Yes. Do you have a spot in mind or shall I find something?”

“I’m not familiar with this area yet, so if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” Even began shuffling out of the row and Isak followed. He used Even as a human shield while he pulled up the number for a nearby Italian restaurant on his phone. Even caught on to what he was doing and moved out of the crowd into a corner of shelves. “Hello, yes, do you have a table for two ready in about ten minutes? Great, thank you. Even. Yes.” Isak recited his cell phone number and hung up. He answered Even’s look with an explanation: “Your name is easier.” 

Even chuckled and led them out of the bookstore. On the sidewalk he silently looked to Isak for direction. Isak started walking south. “We’re going to Benny’s. Good Italian.”

“Excellent.”

They made it to the first crosswalk before Isak spoke again. “So how did you get involved with that?” He thrust his thumb over his shoulder.

“One of Luke’s other authors had to cancel last minute so he passed me along. He called it networking, even though I only talked to that one bookseller.”

“Hey, don’t knock it. That bookseller could change your life.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. They’ll remember your name when they get a galley, then they’ll read it and recommend it to three other booksellers and five customers. Those booksellers will recommend it to their customers, and those customers will recommend it to their friends, and with a little bit of luck that’ll keep going.”

“That’s how it works, huh.”

“Yup. A little _Christmas Carol_ goes a long way.” Isak motioned for Even to take the next corner.

“Do you read it every year?”

“Not the book. I’ve gone to that reading before though. It’s a nice tradition.”

“Yeah, it was sweet.”

They settled into a comfortable silence as they made their way to Benny’s. Isak noticed every time their shoulders touched when they had to squeeze their way around people. He also noticed how Even looked around with wide eyes every time they stopped at an intersection, studying the neighborhood. Isak noticed everything, except the actual restaurant.

“Is this it?” Even had stopped and pointed at the awning above him.

“Oh right, yes.” They walked into Benny’s and were greeted by hot air and the scent of marinara. Even took off his coat and reached for Isak’s, to hang them on the hooks by the door. It was a normal, polite thing to do, but it felt too intimate to Isak. He turned to the hostess for some distance. “Two, under Even.”

“Good evening, sirs. Right this way.” She led them to a corner table with wicker café chairs and a red tablecloth. They took their seats and began studying the menu. Isak pointed out a couple of his favorite plates and tried to make recommendations based on Even’s tastes. Eventually they both decided on a pasta, placing their orders with their bubbly waiter. As he bounced away Even dove into the breadbasket. 

“So…the book.” Even dipped a warm chunk of bread into the shallow bowl of olive oil.

“The book. Congratulations. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that earlier.”

“Please. I understand. My decision was, um, offensive, at best. After that wonderful meeting and your incredibly generous offer it was almost unthinkable that I didn’t choose you. Luke was very angry, and not just because of his commission.”

Isak let himself smile at that; he had heard stories of Luke’s outrage and the dramatics that warranted it.

“I just…it was a personal decision. A very difficult one. I had to advocate for something bigger than money, and do it on a deadline.”

Isak nodded slowly, finessing his response before he let it spill out. He didn’t want to ignore how the decision had affected him, but he also was going to respect it. “That’s the downside to being in the business of art, I suppose. What you’re truly passionate about can…not ‘cloud’ your decisions, really, but…defy reason. Or alter the weight of things. I’ve seen people walk away from publishers’ offers completely, just for the sake of their integrity. Maybe I should be shocked that you took an offer at all.”

“I don’t think it’s like that, exactly. I mean, I moved to America for the sole purpose of selling out to the best of my ability. There was just this one thing that got in the way.”

Isak looked at Even, trying to understand what he was really saying. And when Even returned his stare, it felt like he was trying to say something different. More truthful. But he couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Am I…I’m the one thing.” Isak followed logic’s path to the only conclusion, again. If it wasn’t money, it was him.

“No.” But Even still had that look, like he regretted what he was saying because he wanted to say the opposite.

Isak’s response was almost a whisper. “I think you’re lying.” His accusation hung in the air between them, neither of them attempting to deny it. Only by the luck of this particular universe did the tension finally break when their waiter returned with their drinks. 

“A Sprite for you, sir, and a gin and tonic for you. Be back soon with your entrees.” They sipped in silence.

Isak was desperate for a proper explanation, for Even to finally admit that something was wrong with him, reason enough not to want to work with him. But he also didn’t know if he could handle the truth. Maybe it was better if they both just left it at “a personal decision” and moved on. Maybe that was the only peace of mind he’d be able to get. He stepped onto the high road.

“Well, there’s no use in going in circles over this. You made your decision. I think the most important thing at this point is…that you still talk to Laurel about twisting the ending.”

Relief flooded Even’s face, his whole body. Isak wasn’t going to let this get in the way of their love for the story. It would only add insult to injury if Even denied Isak the publication and let the book shrivel up under Laurel’s care. He reassured Isak that Laurel promised to honor his notes.

“Myself aside, I think you chose well. Laurel is kind, but tough when she needs to be. And smart.”

“You don’t need to sell me on her, Isak. I trust her with this.”

Isak thought he meant the book, but Even placed his palm over his heart. Perhaps they were the same.

“That’s good. I’ve seen authors who…I don’t know if it’s a fear thing or just general distrust, but they start to believe their editors aren’t on their side. Maybe they try to turn a book into something slightly different, but that’s the point of an editor. We help you shape a story into something better. Depending on your perspective, though, it can look like sabotage.”

“What a shame.”

“Yeah. The worst part is that an author then is clinging to what they consider a toxic relationship, and that delusion really turns them against their own work. Doubt is an invasive species and spreads like poison ivy.”

“That’s…good. That’s a good line. May I use it?”

“For what?”

“My second book.”

The waiter arrived with their food, and they paused their conversation to do a tableware dance and make room. They attacked with their forks as soon as the plates landed.

After a few mouthfuls, once the initial hunger had been sated, Isak picked up the conversation again. “That line though.”

“Mmm. Doubt spreads.”

“It’s going to cost you.”

“Oh?” Even looked up, licking away the sauce at the corners of his mouth. “How much?”

Isak smiled. “Forty thousand dollars."


	6. Six

The last couple of days at the office were delightfully relaxed. Agencies were closing up shop for the year and Isak’s coworkers were escaping the city in droves. It was only Paul, Nick, and himself left in their cluster, and Isak could hear Tchaikovsky’s _Nutcracker_ playing in Paul’s office. Isak ran through his latest publisher schedule from Production to make sure he wasn’t behind on anything and to see what was due in early January. The only big task he had left was reviewing Julia’s manuscript for her accepted changes and sending it back to Production for the next pass. He was, admittedly and hypocritically, dragging his feet.

Charlie popped his head into Isak’s office around lunchtime on Tuesday. “Hey.”

“Hey! Is it as quiet over there as it is over here?”

“It’s dead. I’m thinking of leaving soon.”

“Nice. Are you going anywhere for the holidays?”

“Staying local. That’s why I came over actually. I’m hosting a holiday party on the 28th and wanted to invite you.”

“That’s kind of you.”

“Will you come? It’s just going to be a small group, a couple of designers from here, but mostly people you don’t know.” Rarely was an apartment full of strangers a selling point. Isak understood what Charlie was implying.

“I appreciate the invitation Charlie, but I don’t think I can.”

“Busy?”

“No, just…I’m not comfortable continuing this.” He gestured between them. Charlie stepped into Isak’s office and closed the door behind him.

“Was it something I did?” Charlie looked so innocent, standing there with questioning eyes, which made Isak feel worse about trying to stop him.

“Of course not. You were, are, a gentleman, and we had fun. But it’s not professional to carry on like that.”

Charlie dropped his eyes and nodded into his chest. “Sure, I get it. Cover meetings might get a bit awkward, huh.”

Isak appreciated him trying to make it a joke. They were silent for a moment as the decision sunk in.

“So…if I promise not to jump you, will you come to the party?” Isak laughed, which brought a smile back to Charlie’s face.

“Maybe.”

“Well I’d love to have you there.” Charlie stepped closer to his desk, reaching for a pen and Isak’s notepad. “Text me so I can send you the address. We’ll have a good, professional time.” Charlie winked as he wrote out his number upside down. Isak let out a small sigh with the realization that this was how it was going to be. They would always be a little flirty, and the what-if would always be bumping around in the back of their minds. He trusted that they would remain good coworkers and friends, and they would have to tease each other to maintain that distinction. As long as they were joking then the attraction wouldn’t have the space to grow.

Charlie turned to leave. “I think now is the perfect time to start drinking!” he announced to the empty offices as he walked out. Isak couldn’t agree more.

* * *

Isak was literally watching the clock when his inbox pinged with an email from Even. _I’m bored._

Ever the wordsmith.

Isak looked back at the clock. It was only 3:30, and he still hadn’t finished Julia’s review. He was about halfway through; he did some rough math, figuring out how long it would take him to finish and how disappointed Production would be if he turned it in a day late. _Where are you?_

_Where should I be?_

_Meet me at the Glass Castle in 30._

Isak shoved the second half of Julia’s manuscript in his bag and told Nick he was going to work from home.

* * *

“Is this your favorite bar?” Even asked as he settled onto a stool next to Isak’s. “Like if I hear something bad has happened and you’re not answering your messages, can I just come straight here knowing I’ll find you three gin & tonics in?”

“Fuck off. It’s a nice bar.”

“It is.” Even looked up at the ceiling, which was twenty feet up and dripping with chandeliers made out of clear glass bottles. Isak watched his neck bend backward and his throat stretch against his skin. When Even swallowed he nearly choked. “Is it named after—“

“No, and that’s the best fucking part. The owner had no idea about the book, she just thought it sounded cool. I’m sorry I’m swearing so much. I have a weird energy.”

“Keep drinking, that will help.”

“What are you having?” Isak hailed the bartender.

“It’s the middle of the afternoon.” Even mimed looking at his watch.

“You’re an author now, you need to develop a drinking habit that will make you insecure about your own creativity.”

“Jeeeeesus, you don’t hold back. Lucky for me I don’t actually drink.” The bartender leaned over to Even. “I’ll take a Sprite and he’ll have another.”

“Really? I thought the Sprite was some kind of joke.”

“Nope. I’m sober.” Isak knew better than to ask why, but he couldn’t disguise his face from asking for him. Even leaned over in a mock whisper. “It’s better for my health.”

“We’ll go somewhere else next time.”

“No no, this is fine. You need to get drunk, and I’m not going to get in the way of that.”

“That is…true.” Isak raised his glass and drank the rest of his cocktail, cringing when it hit the back of his throat. Isak nudged the empty glass toward the bartender just as they set down a fresh one.

He didn’t know why but he was nervous. He had rushed to the bar, excited to see Even again, but when he got there and had to wait for Even to arrive, he felt anxious. He worried about how his eagerness to meet appeared. He worried about how he looked, and smelled. He worried about them having nothing to talk about except the book. He could talk about the book forever, of course, but he didn’t want that to be the only thing they had in common. He had ordered a drink to calm his nerves.

“So…what’s the latest from Laurel?”

“Nothing. She’s off on holiday now, and said she’d check in at the end of January. So I’m taking my time with her notes, and yours.” Even took a long drag on his straw, and Isak got distracted by how his lips pursed around the plastic.

“Explains why you’re bored then.” 

“Might end up with a drinking problem anyway.” He slid his glass over to Isak’s until they clinked.

Isak took a breath. “Well I’m around during the break, so feel free to drag me around the city.”

“Does your office close?”

“Yes. Tomorrow is our last day until the new year.”

“I’ll take you up on that then. It’s a little too easy for me to just hole up in my apartment and dick around on the internet, so we should have a schedule. For my health.”

Isak stared down at his drink, hyperaware of how what they were saying sounded like they were asking each other out on dates. “Fuck it,” he whispered to himself.

“Hmm?”

“Yeah, we’ll do a proper tour. Get you acquainted with the city, your new home. What’s your schedule like?”

“Oh, well it’s a bit packed. I usually wake up around 6, run for about an hour, shower, and then just…back-to-back meetings until I email you that I’m bored and dying for someone to get me out of my head. Not sure when I’ll be able to squeeze you in.”

“Alright, smartass. We’ll start with brunch on Thursday, okay?” Isak picked up his phone. “Where are you staying?” Even gave him the address of his sublet and he typed it into his maps app. Isak kept a meticulous list of restaurants in various neighborhoods so he could make recommendations to visiting authors or treat an agent to a memorable meal. He scrolled through the ones that popped up nearby Even’s. He let out a chuckle when he saw the Hall.

“What’s funny?” Even craned his neck to look at Isak’s phone.

“Nothing, just the bar I go to on Saturdays. I guess I didn’t realize you were near the piers.”

Even gave him a confused look. “You’ve seen me there twice.”

Isak looked up at Even, unsure how to explain himself. “I didn’t…I didn’t think that was you.”

“I waved to you!”

“I know! I just thought I was imagining you.” Because seeing Even again was too good to be true. Isak hid his face in his hands.

“Hello. I am here. I am real. That’s where I run every morning. I will probably keep waving to you on Saturdays, so get ready.”

“Whatever. Do you want to go to the Hall on Thursday? They have a pretty good selection of eggs.”

“God I love eggs!” Even shouted, teasing. A few of the people in the bar turned to find the source of the voice.

“Fuck off.” Isak shoved his shoulder and Even grabbed at the bar to avoid falling off his stool.

“I’ve just never heard someone compliment a…a…selection of eggs.” Even went to take a sip of Sprite but he was laughing too hard to get the straw in his mouth.

“Fine, we’ll go to a different place where your only option is rubbery eggs benedict.”

“No, no, let’s go to the Hall. I believe you. I need to see these eggs for myself.” He placed his hand on Isak’s forearm to reassure him. “Please.”

Isak didn’t need any more cajoling from Even, but he continued to pout so he wouldn’t stop. So he wouldn’t remove his hand. So he would lean in closer to catch Isak’s downturned eyes.

“Five dollars says you’ll fucking love them,” he mumbled. He picked up his phone again and opened another app to make the reservation.

“Are you betting me I won’t love brunch?”

Isak looked up. “Yeah. Sort of. It’s just a thing I do, make silly bets.” He waved it off. “Is 10 o’clock good?”

“Sure.” Even picked up his own phone and started tapping. “Five dollars says…you can’t get the bartender to walk over here in under thirty seconds.”

Isak finished making the reservation and then let his brain register what Even just said. “What?”

“You have thirty seconds to get the bartender’s attention, to get them to walk over here, or else you owe me five dollars.” Isak looked at the bartender, who was chatting up a woman at the other end. “Ready?”

“Wait—“

“Go!” Even started the stopwatch on his phone. Isak’s arm shot up, and then the other. He waved them frantically.

“Can I walk down there?”

“No, she has to come here.”

“Fuck.” Isak kept waving. He looked around, gauging how many people he’d piss off if he yelled. He stood up and started jumping. Even was laughing, but he tried to keep quiet as to not help Isak’s efforts. The woman the bartender was talking to noticed Isak though, and pointed him out to her. “Hurry the fuck up,” Isak complained through gritted teeth.

“Five seconds,” Even warned. The bartender wasn’t walking fast enough. Isak kept waving his arms to get her to hurry, but it looked like it had the opposite effect. Even tapped his phone at thirty seconds. “Done. You lose.” Isak collapsed onto his stool. The bartender stepped up, glancing between a laughing Even and a pissed off Isak.

“Hi. Sorry. Could I get an orange juice, and another gin & tonic for him? He’s just lost a bet.”

“You know, when someone loses a bet, they’re the ones who get the drinks.”

“I know, but look at him.” Isak was actually pouting now. Even shrugged at the bartender like nothing they could do would help the situation. The bartender turned away.

“Well that was fun. I see why you do it. Do I get my five dollars now or…”

“Start a tab. This isn’t over.”

* * *

Isak was surprised by how well he did on Wednesday. He made it to work on time, finished Julia’s review, and drank enough water to keep the whole city hydrated. He had avoided doing anything embarrassing, and in return was rewarded with a pass on the hangover. His last day in the office was flying by.

Since Nick had already started his vacation time, Isak walked Julia’s manuscript down to Production, dropping it on her editor’s desk. It was ridiculously quiet on their floor, so Isak took his time returning to his own office. He circled the floor and peeked into dark offices; most of the company had already shut down. From the elevator back to his desk he didn’t see a single human being.

He was greeted with an email chime when he returned, which he found strange. He hadn’t received an email all morning, and he hoped for the sender’s sake that they weren’t expecting a response. A thrill ran through him, though, when he saw it was Even.

_I’m bored._

He couldn’t have typed any faster: _$5 says you can’t go ten minutes without emailing me._

It was the slowest ten minutes of his life. Isak felt like a child waiting for cookies to finish baking. A reply swooped in as soon as the ten minutes were up.

_You’re quite shit at your own game._

_You had ten minutes and that’s the best you can do?_

_What’s your cell #? I can do better over text._

_$5 says you can’t._

Isak’s phone didn’t stop pinging for the rest of the day.

* * *

It snowed Wednesday night, a wet snow, with flakes dropping heavily and melting as soon as they hit pavement. When the temperature dropped overnight the city froze. Isak woke up to frost-covered windows and train delays due to the ice. He took his time in the shower, enjoying his vacation for what it was (extra time in the shower), and left the apartment earlier than necessary.

The Hall was busy. The train had felt empty, but it seemed like that was because everyone was already at the Hall, packing strollers and shopping bags into the already slim aisles between tables. Isak spotted Even, already seated, and blew past the hostess with a vague gesture at Even’s head. When Isak walked around the table to face him, he stood. “You should have seen the show I put on to get seated before you arrived.”

“Award-winning?”

“The Oscar is in my bag. I thanked you in my speech.” Isak dipped his head below the table to get a look at his bag. It was a messenger bag, but on the smaller side, and tucked between Even’s feet.

“What do you carry in that? Besides your Oscar.”

“Rope, two lemons, and an extra pair of socks.”

“Only two lemons?!” They smiled at each other, grateful that they shared a sense of humor and could pick up on it seamlessly. “You haven’t ordered yet, right?” Isak got down to the business at hand.

“Just drinks. A risky move on my part, but I guessed mimosa.”

“I am quite the cliché.” Isak picked up the menu and browsed the options. For all the times he’d been there, he rarely ordered breakfast, and that’s what he was craving now. “Do you know what you want?”

“Going with the uh ‘Homestyle Hall.’” Isak scanned the page for Even’s choice. It sounded good.

“Might do that too.”

“No, get something different. Then we can split.” Isak looked up to see if he was serious. “If you’re okay with that,” Even added.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” It was fine. Isak went back to the menu, but his eyes weren’t taking in the words. He was thinking about how he always watched his sister and her husband order food, just like that. They’d decide on the two meals they were interested in, and when the food arrived they would dissect their plates and shove half onto the other. Isak considered it such a couple move, something you only do when you’re willing to risk half of a bad meal just to quell someone’s curiosity. It was generous and efficient. He wondered where Even had picked up that habit, who he split meals with.

A harried waitress stopped at the edge of their table, placing two flutes between them. “The strawberry is straight juice.” Even drew the glass with a strawberry split on its rim toward himself. Isak rushed to make a decision while Even spoke.

“I’ll start. The Homestyle Hall please, with an side of sweet potato fries.”

“Over easy?”

“Make ‘em runny.”

The waitress pivoted to face Isak. “And for you?”

“Grits ‘n’ Gravy please.”

“Thanks boys. Back in a flash.” She collected their menus and spun away.

“So. Did you run this morning?”

“Of course. Was a bitch though. Damn near busted my ass taking some of those corners.”

“Mmm. There was one game that we played on a morning like this. The turf wasn’t wet, but frosted over, and everyone kept sliding. A bit dangerous, actually.”

“Are you guys competitive?”

“Not at all. They used to keep score at the beginning, but then teams would change, and because no one really cared they stopped. Besides, we only have an hour for the field, so it’s stupid to waste that time arguing over points.”

Even nodded and sipped, then picked another topic. He asked Isak about what else he did in his free time, which shifted to vacations, which turned into talking about their families back in Norway.

“That was the hardest part about moving, I think. Knowing that I wouldn’t see my mom for a long time, and that a lot of her life was going to happen without me knowing about it.”

“You’re close with her?”

“Painfully so. I hate this metaphor, but it’s true: she’s my rock, my center. Whenever I get lost she’s the one pulling me back to earth.” Even used his hands along an imaginary rope, pulling something toward himself. Isak leaned in, was pulled.

“You won’t be able to see her for a while?”

Even shrugged. “Might go back soon. Better to do it now when I have the free time.”

“Can you travel?”

Even wasn’t sure what Isak meant at first, but then he realized. “Oh, yes. I’m a citizen. I was born here, raised in Norway.” This was both shocking and not to Isak, but more importantly it answered a lot of his questions. “How about you? Green card?” Isak nodded. “You know what that means.”

“What?”

“You need to show me your photo so I can judge it.”

Isak rolled his eyes. He finished off his mimosa and pretended Even wasn’t being serious.

“Oh come on. Five bucks says you’re cuter in your photo than in real life.” Isak’s jaw dropped.

“Are you calling me ugly?”

“No, just that you were cuter when you were younger. Prove me wrong.”

Isak fumbled with his back pocket, trying to pull out his wallet without breaking eye contact. This was the most ridiculous bet they’d made thus far, but that wasn’t going to stop Isak from winning. He tugged his ID out from behind his credit cards. “You’re going to owe me a lot more than $5 for this.” Even took the ID and held it up in front of him, placing grainy Isak next to the real thing.

“Hmm.” Even took his time, tilting his head and looking between the two Isaks.

“Okay now you’re being a real asshole.”

Even’s face broke into a smile and he handed the card back. “Cute.”

Isak wanted to stay angry because Even had been quite rude, but he returned the smile and blushed at the compliment. The elaborate set-up Even used just to check him out was admirable.

Their waitress returned with fresh flutes in one hand and three plates stacked along her other arm. Even took the drinks to free her hand, and they laid out the spread in front of Isak. “Just pick at whatever you want,” Even instructed. “And try the fries with maple syrup.”

They brunched.

* * *

“What’s next?”

It was hard to believe, but the Hall was even more crowded by the time they finished eating. They left a nice tip for their waitress and shuffled past the people waiting for their table. They finished bundling up out on the sidewalk.

“Not sure. There’s a Christmas market down by my place. Or we could be smart, go indoors. Museum?”

“It’s vacation. Let’s stick with the bad ideas.”

“Christmas market?”

“Christmas market.” They walked to the metro station, skating along the parts of the sidewalk that were still icy. Every so often they’d reach out and grab the other as they lost their footing, but detach as soon as they regained their balance. They warmed up on the brief train ride and then followed the crowd up into the cold air.

Halfway up the station’s steps an older man slipped on a bit of ice hiding under a thin layer of snow. He managed to catch himself before falling completely, but not before knocking everyone behind him down like dominos. This included Isak and Even, Isak falling into Even’s chest and then against the wall when Even’s arms reflexively pushed him away. His face hit the railing as he went down. Even landed on the bottom step on his back. A woman screamed. “You fucker!”

The man scurried up the steps, a pedestrian hit-and-run. Isak pulled himself up by the railing and turned to find Even. He was already on his feet, helping the woman who had screamed. The plastic bags she had been carrying were emptied around her feet. Isak went to help pick up her belongings.

“Isak!” His head snapped up at Even’s voice. “Your face!”

“What?” He deposited what he had collected into one of the bags before bringing his hands up to his face.

“You’re bleeding,” Even said, just as his fingers touched the wet on his cheek. “Shit, you’re cut.” Even abandoned the woman and took Isak’s hand instead. “We need to get out of here.”

Even pulled Isak up the steps, going as fast and as carefully as he could. Back above ground he asked where he lived. “Three blocks, that way.” When Isak raised his hand to point he saw the blood on his fingers, fresh and red. He began a steady flow of curse words that didn’t let up until they reached his door. He freed his keys and let them into the building. “I’m in 4B.”

“Can you handle the stairs? How is your head?”

“I’m fine.” He wasn’t sure what a concussion felt like, but he was pretty sure he didn’t have one. He wasn’t dizzy or faint, just wincing from the pulsing sting below his left eye. “Is it dripping?”

“A bit.” Even swiped at the blood with his thumb. “Let’s go.” He took Isak’s hand with his other one and they climbed up to 4B.

Like any single person in the city, Isak’s apartment was not ready for impromptu guests. As soon as he pushed open the door, he spotted a million things that needed to be hidden from Even. There were clothes spilling out from his bedroom, dirty dishes piled on the coffee table, and stubble decorating the bathroom sink. Even didn’t notice, or didn’t care, though; he directed Isak to the couch and went in search of supplies. He ran a paper towel under some warm water, then dug up band-aids and antibiotic ointment in Isak’s medicine cabinet. He joined Isak on the couch. 

“Look at me.” Even took Isak’s chin in one hand, tilting his head up to the light. He wiped at the blood running down his cheek, then switched to soft dabs as he got closer to the wound. It was a clean cut, about two centimeters long, right along the bone. He soaked up as much as he could, and then pressed a dry paper towel into Isak’s palm. “Hold this on it.” Even went back to the kitchen.

Isak watched Even move around his apartment with ease. He had hung his coat on the back of the door and rolled up his sleeves, then squeezed out some dish soap to wash his hands. “Is it still bleeding?” he called over his shoulder. Isak pulled back the paper towel and tried to examine the bloodstain. He lightly touched it to his cheek to see if there was any more transfer. Even returned with another paper towel and opened the tube of ointment. “I don’t want to know what kind of shit you came in contact with.” Even held his face again, cradling Isak’s jaw in his long fingers. He used his other hand to touch the ointment to the cut and Isak flinched from the pain. Even’s fingers tightened, keeping his face close. When he let go to open a band-aid Isak didn’t move.

His cheek hurt, and he could feel the swelling start above the bone, but he wasn’t focused on the pain. Isak was distracted by how close Even was, what the pads of his fingertips felt like against his skin. It had been cold, then warm, but always soft, and he wanted them back. Even held up the open band-aid in front of Isak’s face, trying to figure out the best angle to stick it on. “Scrunch up your nose,” he told him, doing it himself to show Isak what he meant. Isak copied the move and flinched again. 

“Fuck, that hurt.”

“Sorry, I need to see how your skin would move. Hold still.” Even pressed the bandage to Isak’s face. He wiped at the extra ointment that squeezed out from under it, then leaned back to evaluate his work. “Good. Take off your coat. Do you have ice?” He stood again and Isak took in his full height. Isak didn’t answer, just watched as he went to the freezer and scooped out a couple of cubes. Even whipped a plastic baggie from the box above the fridge, dumped the cubes, and wrapped it all in a dish cloth. When he came back to the couch Isak remembered his instructions and scrambled to unzip his coat. Even traded the ice for the coat. “On your face, before you blow up.”

“Thank you.”

Even continued moving about, putting away the supplies and throwing out the dirty towels. He brought another wet one over and wiped down Isak’s fingers until all of the blood was gone. Isak let his own fingers curl around Even’s “Do you feel tired?”

Isak shook his head. “Just…pressure.”

“Okay. I’m nervous you do have a concussion though. Do you mind if I stay with you for a while?”

Isak didn’t think that was necessary but he clung to the excuse so Even wouldn’t leave. “If it will make you feel better.”

“Staying with you always makes me feel better.” Isak blushed behind the ice cubes. To hide his response further he moved his body so he was seated straight on, and leaned his head back until it was fully supported by the back of the couch. He tilted his face toward Even, slightly, so his cheek was as flat as possible and the ice cubes could balance on their own. When he felt them settle he let his hand drop and the blood return to his fingers.

They were quiet, watching each other. Isak wanted to talk but if he moved his mouth the ice would fall. He let his eyes talk instead, letting them roam and pause, silently marking where he wanted to touch and what he wanted to do. He wanted to care for Even’s body the way Even had his.

Even lifted his hand toward Isak, but paused, holding it in midair. Isak watched his face as he considered something, a small wrinkle forming at his brow. But then his hand moved again, came closer, until his fingers touched down at Isak’s hairline and pushed. Soft and warm, they buried into Isak’s curls. They followed the curve of his head and Isak moved in response, pressing into those fingers. The ice fell. Even’s came to rest on Isak’s neck, light at first, and then gripping and pulling. He drew Isak to him at the same time Isak leaned forward. It was smooth, with no introduction or hesitation, as if they had talked about it before, planning for it, and now it was simply time. Their lips touched, then pressed, then opened. Then the hunger took over.

Even was careful with his hands, avoiding Isak’s cheek, but he let them touch everywhere else. Isak let his body follow. He rolled his neck, his shoulders, his hips, as they chased Even’s hands. When he remembered he had hands of his own he clamped them onto Even’s waist. They alternated leads, pushing and pulling against each other, mouths wider, tongues deeper, skin hotter. Isak wanted to be on top of Even, to cover his entire body and hold him there forever with his weight. But he didn’t want to let go. He waited until they broke for a breath and then he moved faster than ever before. He pushed Even into the back of the couch and climbed onto his legs, hands running from his chest up his neck and into that hair. He took handfuls of the blond waves and tugged gently until Even’s head dropped back like Isak’s had before. Then there was Even’s throat, long and exposed, and Isak couldn’t resist. He bent down and pressed his nose into Even’s collarbone. He breathed in, deep, through his nose. He let his mouth fall open on the exhale, and the heat of his tongue pressed flat against the skin. He stilled, for a taste, and then he slowly licked a hot, wet trail to Even’s jaw. He didn’t know if he heard Even curse or just felt the vibration of his voice through his tongue, but it made him smile. He returned his mouth to Even’s.

He felt dizzy, he felt faint. He felt everything.


	7. Seven

Isak didn’t have a concussion. He developed a headache though, which worried Even and kept him by his side into the night. He dug through Isak’s medicine cabinet again for aspirin and turned off Isak’s lights when they made him squint in pain. They sat on the couch and thought about kissing each other but just talked about anything and everything else. The day disappeared into their conversation.

“Do you think I’ll have a scar?” Isak still hadn’t seen what the cut looked like, even though it felt like it was screaming from his face. He wondered if it would scream forever.

“I hope you do. I like scars.” Isak turned his head slowly to look at Even. “They tell stories.”

“Do you have scars?” On what Isak had seen so far, Even’s face, his neck, his arms, hands, and a little bit of his stomach, there weren’t any. But Even smiled.

“I have many. You’ll see them later.”

“Promise?” This made Even laugh, a soft, throaty chuckle that wrapped itself around Isak.

“Promise.”

They welcomed the silence back, and let it join the darkness like a blanket. It blocked off the rest of the world and let them feel only what they wanted to feel: Even’s fingers in Isak’s hair and the butterflies that the kisses had left behind in Isak’s stomach. He couldn’t believe he had kissed Even, that Even had kissed him. He couldn’t believe they had stopped.

“Are you hungry?”

Yes. “No.”

“Are you sure? I can make something here.”

“Are you staying here?”

“Can I sleep with you?”

“Sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

Even stood and picked up his bag from the floor. He brought it into the bathroom. Isak went to his bedroom, picking up dirty clothes along the way. He wasn’t going to clean—it was too late for that first impression—but he at least needed a clear path to the bed. He flicked his sheet and blanket, snapping them in the air and letting them float flat. He pulled a second pillow from the top of his closet and slipped it into a blue pillowcase, tossing it onto the bed. He also pulled out two pairs of flannel pajama bottoms. He changed into his own and walked the other pair to the bathroom.

“Hey.” He knocked. Even opened the door, a toothbrush pursed between his lips. Isak glanced at the sink where his own brush was still standing in its holder. “Did you bring a toothbrush?” Even held up a finger and turned back to the sink to spit.

“I also brought a rope and two lemons.” Isak snorted. “I always carry a toothbrush. Part of my routine.”

Isak didn’t understand but acted like he did. “Okay. Here are some pajamas if you want them.” He handed him the clothes. As he was reaching for the door to reinstate Even’s privacy, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. “Fuck!” He pushed past Even to get a closer look. “What the fuck!”

“Is it bleeding again?” Even looked over his shoulder.

“No! It’s…it’s blue! And huge!” Isak’s cheek was bruised and swollen, but he didn’t realize how bad it looked.

“It’s healing.”

“It’s disgusting.”

“Stop. I need to finish brushing. Go put more ice on it if you’re that concerned.”

Of course he was concerned; it looked like he’d been in a fight and lost. It was going to be extremely difficult for him to leave the apartment without drawing every eye in the city. Isak cracked two more cubes from the tray and wrapped them the way Even had. He carried them back to his room and climbed into bed. He wondered if he could fashion some sort of sling to keep it pressed to his face, but eventually settled for resting on his side, wedging the ice between his cheek and pillow. It was uncomfortable, but so was the idea of sporting a giant shiner for the next couple of weeks.

When Even was done he shut off the rest of the lights and walked to the bedroom by the glow of his phone. “Can I charge my phone?” Isak pointed to the bedside table, which had outlets along the side. Even bent over to plug in his cord. Isak stared at his flannel-covered ass. “Nice pants.”

“Wait till you get in ‘em.” Even winked, then walked around to the other side of the bed. Isak turned over, carrying the ice with him.

“Have I told you how much I like your apartment?” he asked as he slid his legs beneath the covers.

“No.”

“It fits just right. Not too small, not too big. That was the worst part of trying to find an apartment, figuring out if I would feel cramped in something too small or feel empty in something too big.”

“Most people are just worried about the rent.”

“It’s a small price to pay to feel at home in your home. Do you feel at home?”

He did. He nodded against his pillow. He wondered if it would still feel like home if Even stayed there. He wondered if it was strange to wonder that about a guy he only started kissing a few hours ago.

Even rolled to his side to mirror Isak. “I set my alarms for every few hours to wake you up.”

“Really?”

“Yes. This is how I have to watch you for the first 24 hours.”

“Seems excessive.”

“A concussion is nothing if not dramatic.”

“Alright then…let’s sleep.”

“One more thing though, before you go.” Even covered Isak’s hand, the one holding the ice, with his own, and gently pulled his face in close. “Tell me if it hurts,” he whispered. He started with just resting his lips against Isak’s, waiting for movement. When he felt a pucker he advanced. He slowly increased the pressure, lulling Isak into a sleepy kiss. He felt Isak fade under his mouth and teased him a little, sucking on his lips to keep him awake. But then he let him breathe, let him go.

* * *

Isak didn’t leave his apartment until the day after Christmas. He checked himself in the mirror constantly, prodding at the bruise and tracking the change in color. He made good friends with a few delivery guys and tried on sunglasses with various outfits to see what looked presentable in public. He skipped his game on Saturday morning, worried that if he happened to take a ball to the face (it had happened before), he’d be right back where he started.

Even texted while he was halfway through a bowl of cereal in front of the TV. _This is me waving to you on the pier._

_Run over here._

_Have to shower. Lunch date?_

Isak took a minute to find a place Even hadn’t been to yet that also had low lighting. He knew he couldn’t pull off sunglasses indoors so he’d hide the best he could. He texted back an address and time. 

* * *

“You’re really spoiling me.”

“How so?”

“Someday I’m going to have to find a restaurant on my own and I’m going to be incredibly disappointed.” Even pulled on mittens and tugged his beanie further down on his head. It was still cold out but blessedly not icy anymore. Isak linked his arm through Even’s anyway.

“I suppose…you’ll have to eat every meal with me then.”

“That might get expensive.”

“I’m worth it.” Isak slid his sunglasses back onto his face in such a diva move that it made Even laugh. He started walking away, tugging Even along, and this made him laugh harder.

“Okay, okay,” he said when he caught up. “Where are we going now?”

“Bookstore.”

It had been too long since Isak had been in one, almost a week. He was used to going at least twice during the workweek, usually for author events, and then a personal, casual browse on the weekend. He needed his fix. They took the metro back to his neighborhood, where a new store had just opened and was waiting to be ranked.

As they approached the store, Isak paused to read the sandwich board out front. One side advertised a children’s story hour, and the other had a pithy pun that made Isak snort. He turned to Even. “Are you on twitter?”

“Barely.”

“I will not be the last person to ask you that, by the way. And you’re going to want a better answer than that.”

“Do I have to be on there?” Even whimpered. Isak took a picture of the sign, and then another of the books on display in the window. He counted how many Canfield books there were, satisfied with the number.

“You don’t have to be. You’ll be pressured to, I’m sure. Ask Laurel about it.” Isak led Even into the store, a bell above the door announcing their arrival. He pulled off his sunglasses as he adjusted to the interior. “Speak of the devil.” Right in front of them, reading the back of a book on a table display, was Laurel. She was dressed in yoga pants and her hair was tied up, but it looked like she hadn’t actually hit the gym yet. Isak walked up and gently tapped her shoulder. “Laurel.” She turned.

“Isak!” And then with even more surprise in her voice, “Even!” She leaned in to greet them both with cheek kisses. “What a lovely coincidence.”

“Is this your neighborhood?” Isak asked.

“Far from it. Just had to pop in before I met someone for one of those spin classes. Have to work off all of that Christmas chocolate.”

“Hardly,” Isak scoffed. “Anyway, we were just talking about twitter on our way in, and Even was a bit nervous you’d make him start tweeting regularly.”

“Never. If you have a good joke, send it to me and I’ll tweet it.” She winked at him. “But let’s not worry about social media right now. Are you up for a little task? Do you have time?”

“I always have time for you, Laurel.”

“That’s what an editor likes to hear. Now go take a lap around the fiction section and find three books whose covers you like. Not necessarily what matches your book, but what makes you pick that book up. I’d prefer hardcover but if a paperback strikes you, bring it back.”

Even practically skipped away.

“I really shouldn’t be making him do that so early on but I wanted to have a chat. First of all, thank you so much for the flowers. You’re a gentleman among jackals.” Laurel started walking around the table, running her hand over some of the books. Isak followed. “Second: what the hell happened to your face?”

Isak had forgotten about his cut; no one had stared in the restaurant, and being around Even made him forget something was strange on his face because he stared anyway. Isak waved it away. “An absolutely dumb story. I was walking out of the metro a few days ago and slipped on the steps. I caught my face on the railing.” He slapped his hands together for added effect. “Didn’t leave my house for three days in fear that someone would report me for domestic violence.”

“That’s a shame, though I’ll admit I did think you got punched. Spice up the story next time. I like a good barroom brawl.”

Isak laughed. “If Gina saw me that would definitely be the word on the street.”

“Oh say hello to Gina for me.”

“I’ll do that.”

Laurel moved on to the next table. “Now, what’s this little thing here?” She wiggled her finger between Isak and where Even was at the other end of the store.

“Hmm?”

“Are you seeing him?”

“S-seeing him?” Isak didn’t have to feign shock. He didn’t think he’d be exposed so soon.

“Dating.”

“No! He’s an author. He’s your author.”

“That’s never stopped anyone and you know it. I’m not judging you, just curious. I know this isn’t his neighborhood.”

“It’s not yours either, Laurel. Come on.” She raised her hands in silent defense. “No, we’re just both…”

“Gay.”

“Norwegian.” They spit out their words at the same time. Laurel gave him a funny look, then burst out laughing.

“Oh Isak, you’re a doll. And here comes your Norwegian.”

Even approached, three books stacked in one hand. He laid them out in front of Laurel.

“Have you read any of them?” Even tapped the middle one.

“Interesting. You can put them back. Unless you want to buy them.”

“No, I don’t have the space right now. But is that it?”

“Yes.”

“I feel like I just got my fortune read but you won’t tell me what it said.”

Laurel crossed her arms. “Why did you pick them up?”

“Because I like them?” Even was being challenged, which made him unsure of himself.

“Why do you like them?”

“Because they’re…pretty?”

“Why do you think they’re pretty?” Laurel didn’t let him answer. “Keep looking at covers. Send me the ones you like. See if you have any patterns, or if your reasoning is different for books you’ve read versus ones you haven’t. You never just like something, or think something is pretty. When that happens you’re just reacting to a definition in your life that already exists. You’re recognizing your values.”

Even collected the books slowly, thinking about what Laurel was trying to teach him.

“When we design covers, we’re trying to convey the values of the book and match them with the reader’s. That’s why it can be a crapshoot sometimes, because it’s very easy for wires to get crossed. Or for there to be too many wires or too few.”

“And here I thought a book was about the words.”

“It’s a lucky author who can stand on their words alone. Anyway!” Her voice brightened considerably. “I have an hour of pedaling in place to do. It was lovely bumping into you both.” Laurel repeated her cheek kisses and left.

Even slowly turned to Isak. “I feel funny.” He looked stunned.

“How so?”

“I think…I’m slightly turned on.”

“Oh my god.” Isak rolled his eyes, and then plucked the stack of books from Even’s loose grip. He walked back to the fiction section and reshelved them. Even trailed him around the store.

“Sounds like someone’s jealous.”

Isak spun around to shoot him a look. “Really?”

“Five dollars says you can’t turn me on in a bookstore.”

Isak opened his mouth to accept, but paused when he remembered what Laurel had said. And what he had said to Laurel. He realized, looking at Even standing there in the bookstore, that this, whatever it was, was still so new. And it had barely been out in public for a whole afternoon. To their credit, Laurel could tell something was going on, but she also raised a bunch of questions that didn’t need answering as long as they were just kissing in Isak’s apartment. If they were going to flirt openly at lunch, link arms as they walk around the city, try to seduce each other in bookstores, Isak would need to be comfortable with explaining why they were doing that. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t seeing Even. He wasn’t dating him. Even was an author, they were friends. By defining it for Laurel he had doomed it for himself.

As Isak’s hesitation turned into a complete response, Even understood what was happening. “You can’t.”

“I told Laurel we were just friends. You’re her author. I’m her colleague. Her competition. This doesn’t look good for either of us.”

“How so?”

“You could lose your career before it even started. People joke about the gossip in this industry, but it’s vicious. Word of mouth goes both ways.”

Even chewed over what Isak was saying with the same look he had on his face when he was listening to Laurel. Finally, he spoke. “Can we go to your apartment?”

Isak nodded, feeling like he was agreeing to something wholly unpleasant exacted in his own home. He dropped the book he was holding back on the table and walked to the front of the store. He sensed Even following, close enough so he was aware but far enough to consider it a distance. He went outside and paused on the sidewalk. Isak put his sunglasses on, not sure if he was hiding his face from the rest of the world or just Even.


	8. Eight

Isak walked half a step in front of Even the whole way back, not saying anything. He thought about what he was afraid of and what he was trying to hide. He wondered if it was enough for Even to cut and run, if his disrespect for their relationship turned out to be a good stopping point for it entirely. It was clearly enough for him to do that to Charlie, so he’d understand if he was now on the receiving end of that same cruelty. The kissing was fun, but now it was done.

So Isak was slightly shocked when Even reached up and laced his fingers through his own while they climbed the steps to 4B. They were warm from his mittens and Isak instinctively tightened his grip. He didn’t let go even as he struggled to open his door with only one hand. Once inside they only untangled so they could remove their coats. Even took Isak’s and hung it next to his on the door. Isak was even more shocked when Even spun back to face him and immediately leaned in for a kiss, his mouth open and searching, landing a bit off target. Isak froze. “What are you doing?” he asked against Even’s mouth.

“Kissing you.” When Isak didn’t respond, the confused look not leaving his face, Even explained. “You said you couldn’t turn me on at the bookstore so I figured we should try it here instead.” Even had the smug smile of someone who just won a contest on a technicality.

“I thought…I thought you were mad about what I said.”

Even stepped back when he realized Isak wasn’t going to play along. “I’m not mad.” He walked around him to take a seat on the couch. “I’ve been in relationships like this before, where I’ve had to hide. I get it.”

“You shouldn’t have to hide though.” Isak joined him on the couch, but sat at the other end.

Even looked at Isak, so far away. Something settled in his eyes, like he had made a decision, and it made Isak nervous again. Even took a deep breath. “You see, I really only have two options. I can be happy and in love with someone, but forced to hide it, or I can be bitter and lonely and have the freedom to tell the world about it. Some people say you can’t truly be in love if your partner is ashamed of you, but I don’t think that’s true. So I—“

“I’m not ashamed of you!” Isak interrupted. His back shot up straight and his muscles flooded with tension. “Never, I’d never. What. I’m not ashamed,” he blurted out.

Even narrowed his eyes. “We just can’t be more than friends in public. You’re not ashamed of me, but you don’t want to be romantically associated with me.”

“Yes. Look…I’d shout it from the rooftops that I’m fucking Even Bech Næsheim if I could, but it would cause so much trouble. An entire industry knows that you just sold your debut novel to an underbidder at BMG. People know that I tried to buy it. People know that I tried to pay a lot of money for it, and was denied. If they found out that I was in a relationship with you as well? Then the whole situation would go under scrutiny, and people would assume things that may or may not be true.”

“Like what?”

“Like…like maybe Luke set me up to raise the bids in the auction. Or that I asked Luke to include me. It would look rigged, which would get Luke in trouble, get me in trouble, and you…you would lose all credibility. No one would read another word you wrote if they couldn’t trust your motives or your actions. Publishing doesn’t tolerate being scammed. You’d be blacklisted.”

“But you didn’t know who I was until Luke sent you my book.”

“Doesn’t matter. You can’t prove that we didn’t know each other, so it will always be a possibility, and the perfect rumor. Or even if you could prove that we didn’t know each other, Luke sending me your book still looks incredibly suspicious. Me offering on your book look suspicious. He sent it to me on exclusive, then only sent it to executive editors at other houses. And then…and then you didn’t even take my winning bid! It was damn near impossible to explain to Matthew how we had an amazing meeting and killer offer and still walked away with nothing. That’s a fucking red flag.” Isak was getting angry. His voice was getting louder, harder.

“I told you, it was per—“

“Personal, yeah, we know. The thing is, that’s not a good enough excuse. Publishing is a personal business. It’s personal when people are willing to attach a price tag to their art, when they’re willing to let strangers determine the value of something that is invaluable to them. You can’t separate the personal from the business when they’re the reason the other exists. You live to write and you write to live and it’s forty fucking thousand dollars that keeps that cycle going.”

Even was silent. Isak let his head drop. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

“It’s okay.” The couch moved when Even shifted his weight forward. Isak looked up to see Even standing above him, and then sitting down again, practically in Isak’s lap. “I understand that you’re not ashamed of me.”

“God, never.” Isak softened being so close to him. He leaned in and let his forehead rest on Even’s.

“I’m honored that you’re trying to protect me.” Even rolled his face against Isak’s, tilting a bit so their noses fit against each other’s and their lips could meet. They traded quiet, still, kisses. “I just have one question.” One more kiss before he leaned back to look Isak straight on. “When you said you were fucking Even Bech Næsheim, did you mean it?”

“I think that was a hypothetical,” he whispered, eyes hooded and unable to look away from Even’s mouth. He watched his pout slowly spread to a smile.

“Then let’s make it…not…that.”

The sentence dissolved into their next kiss, one that Isak collapsed under, until his back was arched over the arm of the couch. He pushed back so he wouldn’t hit his head on the end table, and made Even sit back so he could scoot further down on the cushions. Once he was horizontal he grabbed at Even’s shirt, climbing it like ivy, until his body flattened out along his own. Even rested one arm above Isak’s head and the other on his chest, letting his hand run across the cotton until it found a nipple. Even rolled against it until he felt Isak harden on his hip. Isak, who had been running his hands from Even’s waist up to his neck and back again, finally moved to Even’s back, taking handfuls of Even’s ass through his pants. Even took that as encouragement to go further, eating Isak’s mouth and humping against his leg. Isak slid his hands into Even’s pants, regripping, and added more force to the waves of Even’s thrusts. Their breathing kept pace with their arousal until the best they could do was pant against each other’s cheeks, lips abandoned as their blood rushed down.

“Wait, ungh…” Isak huffed out between gasps. He pulled his hands out of Even’s pants and tucked them between their chests. “I’m going to come too soon.” Even slowed his hips but lengthened their strokes so Isak felt the pressure from his balls to the tip. “Not…helping.” Isak pushed on Even’s chest until they broke contact. Even sat himself up on his knees and lifted his shirt over his head. Next his hands danced around his belt, button, and fly, until he could push his pants down far enough to free his dick. His boxer briefs bulged out obnoxiously. “That’s not helping either.” Isak had to stare at the ceiling to drag his body back from the edge.

He had barely stepped outside of the danger zone when he felt Even’s hands on his jeans. “May I?” Isak looked down; seeing Even’s long fingers tease at his zipper was almost as hot as feeling them. He nodded.

“You’ve been warned.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to get one out of the way.” Even smirked, then went to work. He popped the button and tugged on the zipper, the tiny vibrations from the teeth making Isak’s legs jerk. When the jeans were opened completely Even pulled them from Isak’s waist to the top of his thighs. Isak lifted his hips to help them move past his ass. Even adjusted his own legs so they were straddling both of Isak’s, and he rested his weight back on Isak’s knees. Now he was trapped. Isak threw his eyes back to the ceiling and tried to control his breathing through his nose.

Once Even’s hands returned to his dick, though, he was a goner. Those warm fingers wrapped around his erection through his boxers and lightly squeezed, pulling on his length until the tip popped above the waistband. On the downward drag Even took the boxers with him, exposing the hard shaft and thick vein that pulsed threateningly. He switched his grip for a more consistent rub and smiled at the weight of the cock, at its slight curve toward Isak’s belly. And then he stroked, once, twice,--

“F-fuck!” Isak yelled, announcing the first spurt of cum. Even tried to push up on Isak’s shirt with his other hand but was too late; three shots landed on the fabric before the rest spilled out onto his skin. A softer, longer “fuck” floated up as Isak exhaled. Even resumed stroking until Isak twitched with sensitivity. “Okay okay you’re done.”

“Um, I think the fuck not.” Even leaned back and gestured at his erection. Isak rolled his eyes as he pushed himself upright. He stretched his shirt down to wipe off his stomach, then bunched it up and pulled it over his head. As soon as the fabric cleared his mouth Even kissed him. “You’re really hot when you come.”

Isak tilted his head up for more kisses, and Even felt him smile against his lips. “What?” he asked without stopping. But Isak didn’t answer until he did. “What?”

“Five dollars says you can’t do it again.”

* * *

Even’s alarm went off before the sun rose. “It’s Sunday you dickhead,” Isak growled into his pillow. He felt Even’s arm reach across his back to pick up his ringing phone.

“I didn’t think I was going to sleep over. I need…clothes.” Even jostled the mattress as he unplugged the phone and threw back the covers.

“That’s the worst excuse anyone has ever given to leave my bed.”

Isak listened to the jingle of Even’s belt as he pulled on his pants. Even had kept them on for most of the evening, through Isak’s blowjob and another heavy make out session while they waited for their food to arrive. They never actually got around to the proposed fucking, so he owed Isak five dollars and the pants didn’t hit the floor until he was about to climb into bed, exhausted. Isak kept his face buried in the pillow, ready to drift back to sleep as soon as he heard Even shut the door. But first the mattress moved again. He felt Even’s breath against his ear. “Stay naked.”

Isak did not go back to sleep.

It took Even a few hours to get sorted. He went back to his apartment to shower and pack a bigger bag, just in case, and then he decided to get his run out of the way. He finished his route in record time, picked up his bag, and hopped on the metro back to Isak’s.

He took three flights of stairs two steps at a time, then walked right into the apartment; Isak had unlocked the door and then climbed back into bed. “Risky move leaving your door unlocked while you’re naked.” Even dropped his bag to the floor and immediately started stripping.

“Risky move leaving me alone while I’m naked.” Isak was still on his belly but had twisted his pillow to the side so he could watch Even over his shoulder. Once he was down to his sweatpants he crawled across the bed and let himself collapse on top of Isak.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I’ll never do it again.” Even tucked his chin and took small, gentle bites of Isak’s shoulder. They stayed like that for a few minutes, Isak breathing in Even’s scent, of sweat and winter, and letting his weight relax his muscles. Then Even rolled off of him and flopped about until he was able to join Isak under the covers. Isak wasted no time in snaking his hand down Even’s pants and cupping his balls.

“I missed these.” He gave Even a light squeeze.

“They missed you too. Damn near cried about it in the shower.”

“Aww, don’t cry.” Isak looked down and spoke directly to his crotch. Even laughed.

“Okay, you talking to my junk does not do it for me.”

“Yeah, that was kind of weird.”

“Let’s talk about your ass instead.” Even rolled to his side, which forced Isak onto his as well. He didn’t let go of Even, so Even reached around his waist to pull him closer and let him get a more comfortable position. Isak’s erection popped up and tapped against Even’s belly. “Oh hello,” Even whispered before enveloping Isak’s mouth in a deep kiss. He reached down to massage Isak’s ass, letting his hands do the talking. Isak arched into it. Even’s fingers danced along his crack, teasing, until they took that first dip in and—

Even froze. He whipped his hand back, bringing it above the covers to see what he had just touched. Isak had a satisfied smile on his face, his tongue peeking out between his teeth. “Are you fucking lubed up?” Even whispered. Isak didn’t have a chance to answer before Even’s hand was back on his ass, gripping and pulling it toward him. Even pushed himself up and Isak down until he was back on his belly and the duvet half hanging off the bed. Even knelt above him, then over him. “You are so naughty.” He stared at Isak’s ass, a little pink from where he had grabbed him, and a little lube glistening where his finger had drawn it out of his crack. Even then noticed the towel Isak was lying on and a low groan purred out of him. He pawed at Isak’s ass cheeks, pulling them apart and seeing how wet he was. “May I?” he breathed. Isak nodded against his pillow. He hitched up his legs and reached back to keep his cheeks spread while Even stroked a finger across his hole. After a few passes he entered Isak, slowly, and they both went slack jawed at the sensation. They were both motionless except for Even’s finger, which took its sweet time going all the way in and back out to just the tip. Even repeated this, adding a little bit of pressure and speed each time, until Isak started humping back at his hand, asking for more.

Then Even had to stop. It was too much to just watch. He had to be naked, he had to be inside of him. He pulled all the way out, wiped his hand on the towel, and backed off of the bed. “Where?” he asked as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his briefs and pushed the rest of his clothes to the floor.

“Bedside table.” Isak lifted his hips and adjusted his cock, played with it a bit, while Even lunged for the drawer where he kept his condoms.

“Jesus Christ, I’m about to fuck a really naughty boy.” Even turned on the vibrator he found and let it rumble against the wood of the table.

“You can play with all that later. Put a fucking condom on.”

“Yes sir.” Even turned off the vibrator, grabbed a condom, and turned to face Isak. Seeing him spread like that, his hand underneath him and his neck straining to look up at Even’s face, made Even beyond hard, his dick wobbling in the air. He rolled on the condom.

Isak turned away then, and fumbled under the sheet bunched down by his knee. With a weird back-handed throw he tossed it in Even’s general direction. He flicked open the cap and rubbed some over the condom.

“How long were you playing with yourself?” he asked as he grabbed Isak’s ankle and tugged him to the center of the bed. Isak moaned as the movement made the towel rub against his dick.

“I don’t know. How long were you gone?”

“Holy shit. Did you come?

“No. That wasn’t the point.” Even climbed onto the bed. “I was waiting for something…bigger.”

“Fuck, Isak,” Even muttered. He arranged himself between Isak’s legs, lining his thighs up against the back of Isak’s, then dropping his hips until his cock was resting on his ass. He spread Isak’s cheeks and nestled his cock in the crack, letting out a moan at the hint of pressure. He started rocking, enjoying the gentle friction.

Isak pushed up onto his elbows, letting his head fall back. He liked feeling spread, stretched, moved by the motion of someone else. It was a good warm-up. Once he started getting used to it, though, once his body started to relax, he made his demands. “I need you to fuck me. Now.”

“Yeah?” Even slowed to a stop, then poked his tip at Isak’s hole. He leaned forward a bit. “You’re ready for this?”

Isak’s “Yes” drew out into a hiss as Even pushed in. He controlled his breathing as they worked to get Even past his ring. Then he clenched once Even was sliding in.

“Oh ho, fuck you.” He choked out a laugh at the sudden squeeze. Even shifted his legs forward, almost lifting Isak onto his thighs, and then placed his hands on either side of Isak’s ribcage. He braced himself against Isak, against the bed, and began a swirl of slow thrusts.

With more of Even’s weight towering over him, Isak let his arms drop and slide out to the edges of the bed. His fingers gripped at the sheets and relaxed every time Even shifted his angle, whenever a new nerve ending was lit up. His exhales turned into steady, quiet moans.

Even found a rhythm. They started to build. Without realizing it, with the pleasure overwhelming the exertion, Even began sweating. The moisture added to the slap of their thighs and the heat radiating off their bodies. But he still hadn’t found what he was looking for. 

Isak caught on. “I need to be on my back. Ungh. So you can…ungh, angle up.”

“Okay.” A couple more thrusts. “Ready to flip?” Even pushed up so his weight was back on his legs. He pulled out slowly, watching Isak’s hole stretch and drag along his cock. Once he was free Isak moved quickly; he turned over, pulled the pillow from under his head down to his hips, tucking it under the towel. He returned his legs to Even’s sides, and then, once he was comfortable, hooked them around Even’s waist until he fell forward. “Oh man. I love a guy who’s efficient.” Even dropped all the way down onto Isak, breaking for a few kisses. He could taste the salt on Isak’s upper lip, the air taking on that smell of sex. And then he was back up on his knees, a teasing finger at Isak’s hole before he plunged his cock back in.

He listened to Isak’s groans and watched his chest rise and fall. He took cues from any muscle twitch across his abs or hitch in his breath. The angle was better, but it wasn’t there yet. He had to be higher. Without slowing, he asked for the other pillow. Isak reached up and pulled it under him, his deftness limited by Even’s pounding. But the adjustment raised his hips, and then, finally, Even struck gold. “Ahhh! Th-there! Fuck! Shit!” A new expletive with every stroke.

Even memorized the angle. He memorized how he was gripping Isak’s ass, how Isak’s thighs were bruising his waist. He memorized the desperate inhales and loud exhales and the way Isak’s arms were flexing as they tried to hold on to this world. Even sped up. He was falling in love with watching Isak fall apart. He ignored the strain pulsing through his own abs and thighs knowing he just had to be faster, constant, unrelenting. He had to get there. They had to get there.

The pressure was so intense, all over, that Isak didn’t realize he was coming until he heard Even’s moan. He forced open his eyes to see Even nearly drooling over his stomach, and the sight of it added force to his next shot of cum, so that it landed on his chest. “Fuck, oh fuck, I love it when you come.”

It was a small relief. Even was still hitting his prostate and his dick was leaking small drops of cum with every stroke. Isak let his head fall back, his body limp with pleasure. His legs dropped from Even’s waist. “I need you to come. You’ve…you’ve fucked me so good. Come for me.”

Even whipped one of the pillows out from under Isak so he could lean over him. He shifted his weight forward with a thrust, his hands nearly under Isak’s armpits. He looked down at Isak’s cock, still hard and red, bouncing above the strings of cum. Then he looked up at Isak’s face and locked down. He let his mind focus on Isak’s eyes, shining in that late morning light, so his body could act on its own. His thrusts became lighter and faster, uncontrolled. Isak whispered encouragement, “Come. Come for me.” So he did. When Isak felt that first pulse inside of him he grabbed Even’s neck and pulled his face down into an open-mouthed kiss. He breathed in Even’s grunts, taking a part of him in at each end. His hands let go of Even’s neck and ran down his arms, encouraging him to collapse on his chest. Even gave a few more thrusts, hard jerks from the momentum of his orgasm, and then finally let himself fall.


	9. Nine

Even left early on Monday again, but didn’t take as long returning to Isak. He ran his route and picked up bagels on the way back. Isak told him what to order and gave him cash.

“You know, that shop is kind of far away,” Even announced when he got back to the apartment. “Do you go there a lot?” 

Isak shrugged. “When I have time. When I’m in the mood. Mostly it’s when I’m going that way for something else.”

Even tossed the bag of warm carbohydrates toward the couch, and it landed with painful precision in Isak’s lap. He shrugged out of his coat.

“Grab the orange juice from the fridge?” Even fulfilled the request without a word, pulling out the bottle and collecting two glasses from the cupboard. He joined Isak on the couch and served the juice while Isak unwrapped the bagels. An episode of Friends was playing on the TV, mute. They ate.

Sometimes Isak watched the TV. Sometimes he watched Even. Even had a napkin scrunched up in one hand and would dab at any errant cream cheese. They traded bites of their food so they could experience each other’s preferences. Isak laughed at how puffy Even’s cheeks got when he was trying to chew too much. It was a casual morning, dripping along like molasses and just as sweet, and Isak wished for more just like it.

When they were done eating they watched another episode. And then another. And then Even fell asleep. Isak gently nudged him so he would fall to the side, and then lifted his legs so he was laid out on the length of the couch. Even would probably be sore when he woke up but he didn’t want to disturb his sleep. Isak took the time to do some quiet chores, changing his sheets and ironing his clean dress shirts. He still had a week of vacation left, but he knew those seven days were going to fly by and he would need a decent suit for when that Monday morning arrived. He hung up his shirts, tidied up his closet, and tried to collapse the ironing board with as little noise possible. Then his phone pinged. A text from Charlie: _Are you coming tonight?_

Isak sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the text. His first thought was that it would be good for them to go out. But then he remembered why they were staying locked away. Besides the sex. Charlie’s reassurance that there wouldn’t be many people from Canfield still wasn’t enough to let them be open with each other in public. Unless Even wanted to go as just friends. Maybe they could pull off a secret relationship and just have fun with it for a bit. If that’s what they had…Isak wasn’t sure what they actually were because he was too focused on what they couldn’t be. Staying in the apartment stopped him from having to think about what they wanted to be outside of it. 

_Could I bring a friend?_

They were at least that.

“Hey.” Isak looked up at the voice and found Even leaning against the doorframe. He was running a hand through his hair.

“Hey! Sorry, did I wake you?” He switched his phone to vibrate.

“No, I….Um, I think I should go.”

“Why? You brought enough clothes.”

“I’m just…not feeling well. That nap was weird. And I’m still pretty tired.”

Maybe he had overexerted himself on his run. Isak stood up. “Okay. Do you want to sleep here?” He gestured at his bed like it was a prize on a game show.

“Thank you. But I really need to go.” Even managed a small smile, then stepped into the bedroom. “And thank you for a lovely weekend.” He was hesitant, like he wasn’t sure what he was doing, but then he closed the space between them with a kiss.

“Do you think you’d be up for dinner…or something?” Isak didn’t realize how desperate he was to not be apart from Even until he heard it in his voice.

“How about a rain check? I think I’m going to go pass out. Or maybe see someone about it.”

It must be serious if he was thinking about a doctor. This convinced Isak that it would be better for him to leave, though, so he relented. “Okay. I’m going to call you a car. I don’t want you on the train if you’re that ill.”

“Thanks.” Even turned to the corner of the room to retrieve his bag. He slowly walked around the apartment gathering his things that had spread out across the past few days. Isak hailed a car on his phone and then caught up with Even in the bathroom.

“You can leave your toothbrush and stuff. No need to carry that back and forth.” Even caught Isak’s eye in the mirror and smiled, but kept packing things away. It seemed like he didn’t want to leave a single trace of himself behind.

Isak was unsettled. He watched Even prepare to leave as if the apartment had suddenly become a hostile environment. His shoulders were tense and eyes a little wild. He was packing for survival. Isak wondered if it was something he said or did, if there was something he had to undo. But he couldn’t figure it out. They were eating breakfast, then they were watching TV with minimal interest but even less interest in doing anything else, and then Even fell asleep. When he had woken up something had changed. But what?

Isak’s phone pinged again when the car arrived. Even pulled his coat on and shoved his feet into his shoes. Just when he thought Even was going to swing out the door before saying goodbye, Even turned to him and swept him up into a hug. “This was beautiful. You are beautiful. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Even kissed his cheek, right below his scar, and then he was out the door. Gone.

Isak had nothing left to do but wait for a phone call.

* * *

Isak showed up at Charlie’s with a bottle of wine and a bad mood. Charlie buzzed him in and met him at his door, a gin and tonic ready and waiting. “Looks like I was right to get you drinking from the start.” 

“Sorry.” Isak tried to rearrange his face to get rid of the clouds.

“Where’s your friend?”

“False alarm.”

“Ah. I’d say I’m sorry but I’m not sure I am. Here.” Charlie traded Isak’s coat and wine for the cocktail. “Find a seat in the living room. It might be on the floor.”

Isak turned into the living room. There were about fifteen other people squeezing onto Charlie’s two couches and a mix of chairs. Two of them were on the floor, which looked like his only option as well. He gave a small wave to the room when they noticed him enter, but when the chatter picked up again he faded into a ghost. He sunk to the floor, careful to not spill his drink. He avoided eye contact with the other guests, but listened to their conversations for a jumping-in point.

Charlie rescued him a few minutes later when he rejoined the party. He had opened Isak’s bottle of wine and placed it with the others on the coffee table, then sat down next to him on the floor. “So. Who is the friend and why are they not at this ridiculously fun party?”

Isak smirked then tried to figure out what he should reveal. “Um…do you remember that book I was trying to buy, that Matthew asked you to design covers for?”

“Yeah.”

“The author. Even. I was going to bring him but something came up.”

“Oh. Well maybe that’s for the best. This isn’t exactly a publishing party.” Isak looked around the room again, confirming that he didn’t know anyone there.

“There was this one author,” Charlie continued, “who I was doing web design for, a rebrand. He was really cute and always nice in his emails, so I invited him to one of those rooftop media parties. He showed up and was dressed really well and polite to people, but when we started talking all he did was complain that no one knew who he was. It’s like he couldn’t function if someone wasn’t complimenting his writing every ten minutes. Not that Even is the same, I don’t know, but some authors really can’t handle life beyond the publishing bubble.”

Isak nodded into his drink. He knew those authors, had spent countless hours massaging their egos. It was part of his job, after all, to turn an author into a celebrity, to create demand. But he didn’t think Even was like that, or would become that, later on. They hadn’t talked much about his book beyond the deep dive in their first meeting, and while he was certainly interested in learning about publishing, it was less for his own advancement and more to satisfy a curiosity. The demand for him would be natural, and not something he would expect.

“Even is fun to hang out with though.”

“Well that’s…nice.” Charlie didn’t know what else to say about a stranger he didn’t really care for, so he moved on, starting a conversation with a woman sitting above them on the couch. Isak looked between them as they talked and tried to contribute; he wasn’t going to be a complete downer at someone else’s party, as much as he felt like he was headed that way.

Which, as he continued to think about it, was ridiculous. Even simply wasn’t feeling well, and it had nothing to do with their relationship. He said he’d call tomorrow, probably after he rested up and could fight off whatever was draining him. Isak wondered why he took the sudden leave so personally.

“Do you want another drink?” Charlie interrupted his thoughts.

“Uh, sure. Thanks.”

Charlie lifted his glass as he stood, and once he had disappeared, the woman on the couch engaged Isak. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name earlier.”

“Isak. And yours?”

“Bethany.” She offered a hand to shake, several gold bracelets on her wrist chiming against each other. “How do you know Charlie?”

“I work with him at Canfield. I’m a book editor.”

“Oh fantastic! I never meet any of his work friends. Most of us are graphic designers, school friends, the like.” She wiggled her fingers at the other guests as if she were sprinkling fairy dust on them. “So, I have to ask. Have you read anything good lately?”

Even’s texts. All of them. From his casual requests for entertainment to his silly five dollar bets. _Five dollars says the guy in front of me is going to order a cinnamon raisin bagel._

Instead Isak made a snap judgment on how she dressed and the kinds of books Charlie had in his living room. He wanted to name a book that she would have likely read or heard of, as to keep the conversation going instead of an “I haven’t heard of that one” dead end. No one ever wanted to know what book someone else deemed good anyway. They wanted to know what book they recognized or would enjoy. Isak picked a dysfunctional family drama that was so kooky that it was almost satire. It was fun, but edgy, something that Bethany would be proud of reading and telling people she read.

“Oh I loved that!” They talked about their favorite parts and Isak was able to recommend other books that were on a similar level. He considered it a party trick.

Chats came easier then, and Isak made his way around the room. It was refreshing talking about something other than books, thinking about something other than Even, and meeting people who didn’t give a shit about either of them. He probably almost learned some valuable lessons about design, too, except Charlie kept his glass full for four straight hours. When the group voted to order pizza around 1 AM, he took that as his cue to leave. As much fun as he was having, he didn’t think he could rally, so he asked Charlie to show him where his coat was.

“Thanks for coming out.”

“Thank you for inviting me. You have a good crew. And a nice place.”

“Next time I’ll show you the bedroom.” Isak rolled his eyes. “I know, I know. It’s just really hard to not flirt with you."

“I’ll see you back at the office, Charlie.”

“Night, Isak.”

He took the metro back to his apartment, trying to map out a place where he could get a late-night slice on the way. He hopped off a stop earlier than usual and hit a hole-in-the-wall joint; he joined some younger people, students, standing on the sidewalk and panting over their too-hot slices. He watched people weave around them, shuffling over discarded paper plates and crusts, and thought about how this is something they should do too. He had been taking Even to proper sit-down meals at restaurants that were too far out of their price ranges to be patronized regularly. And those meals were fine. Lovely, in fact. But he knew that they could have just a good a time if they were standing in the cold, cradling $1 slices, and burning their tongues on hot grease. Maybe even better. It was a good idea, and Isak hoped he’d remember it in the morning.

* * *

Isak was still in bed when Even called, but he had been awake for a while and had his phone waiting in his hand. “How are you feeling?” he asked as soon as he swiped open his phone.

“I’m still kind of tired but I want to see you.”

“Where can I meet you?”

“Would you like to go to a museum?”

“Sure. I might have a free pass, depending on which one it is.”

“The Bryn? They have a Peter Ford exhibit I’d like to see.”

“Hmm, I think so. I’m pretty sure it’s part of The Collective.” Isak estimated how long it would take him to get there, adding a few minutes to throw on a decent outfit. “Meet there at 11?

“Perfect, see you.” Isak hopped out of bed, full of energy now that he had some direction for the day. 

Isak had been to The Bryn once before, when they hosted one of his authors for a workshop in their auditorium. He didn’t take advantage of Canfield’s discounts and memberships as much as he should have, so even though he wasn’t into modern art he still felt like he was accomplishing something with this visit. He arrived a few minutes early and waited for Even outside. He felt giddy.

He saw Even approaching before Even saw him. In fact, it took Even a while before he saw Isak, because he was walking with his head down. He was quite bundled up against the cold, only the top half of his face visible. Isak recognized his walk though, the beat his body made as it moved. It was his song. He started walking toward him, to close the distance faster.

“Hello.” Up close Isak could see how tired Even still looked. His eyes were dull and skin puffy and dark. But he could also tell that Even was smiling behind his scarf. He wiggled his head so he could talk above the fabric.

“Hi. You are so handsome.” Even took him in appraisingly. Isak didn’t think his face could get any pinker, but it did.

“How are you?”

Even shrugged. “Can we go in?”

“Of course.” They both followed the rules: nothing in public that could be interpreted as anything more than good friends. They walked side by side and paid attention to the world around them. Even didn’t touch Isak except to take his coat at the coat check. Isak let Even lead the way into the exhibit. They moved slowly through the rooms, through Ford’s phases, and took in a lifetime of work. He waited for Even to share some context to the paintings as they walked, tidbits from Ford’s life or details of the periods that stood out to him. But he didn’t; he was silent. He spent long minutes standing in front of each floor-to-ceiling canvas, his eyes washing over each brushstroke and following the curves. Isak looked at the paintings too, but when he was done with each one he watched Even. Sometimes his face looked strained, as if he wanted something from the painting but couldn’t have it, no matter how hard he tried.

When he was watching Even again, in the last room of the exhibit, Isak felt another wave of déjà vu. It was like he had been there before, seeing these paintings and watching someone else communicate with them. It was impossible, since had had never been in that room or knew who Ford was, but the recognition was so strong that Isak started to doubt his own mind. Maybe he had been here before but had forgotten. Except a few seconds later, in a cinematic flash, Isak saw what he had seen before: instead of Even in front of him, it was Mary. She was standing there the way the narrator remembered her. Her neck was tilted back, loose hair cascading toward the floor. Her eyes were frantic, crossing the paintings with the speed of someone not actually looking, of someone trapped in her own mind. A sharp pain squeezed at Isak’s heart, and his breath caught in his throat. 

“Even,” he choked out. He called his name to bring Even back to him. Mary disappeared. “Have you been here before?”

“To the museum?” Even walked closer so he could lower his voice.

“Yes.”

“Many times. It’s my favorite.”

“I thought you’ve never been to the city. Before you moved.”

Even gave him a small smile. “Yes, you did. And I never corrected you. I visit about once a year, since I was a teenager. My father lives just outside, in Gulver.”

Things started to click into place, then. His minimal accent when he spoke in English. His incredible detail for the city’s locations in his book. How fast he was able to find an apartment. Even didn’t just appear in his inbox one day and pack up his entire life the next. This was a long time coming. “I’m sorry if that was the wrong thing to do.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I feel dumb for not noticing it though. Christ. And me trying to show off all of those restaurants.” Isak rolled his eyes at himself. “You have to pick the next one.”

“Deal.”

Even turned back to the painting he was looking at. They spent another twenty minutes in that last room, Isak not rushing him to finish. Once he was ready to go, he led Isak back to the coat check.

“What did you think?”

“It was impressive. He captured an incredible range of emotions in a singular style.”

“Yes! It’s a really subtle reminder of the capacity of a human being. To not only contain that much but then to be able to turn it into something else, with such limitations.”

“And to share it. That’s a huge step.”

“God, I want to kiss you so much right now.” Isak almost missed what Even said among the rustle of their coats. He shoved his arms into his sleeves, then stopped for silence. “No one has understood me, or understood what I see, as much as you. And I don’t know how to tell you how much I appreciate that."

“You just did.” Isak held out his hand like he did when they first met, for a handshake. Even took it slowly. The rest of the world, if they were watching, saw two men shaking hands in a museum. They didn’t see the warmth that transferred on contact, the pulse of their hands as they squeezed, the creation of knowledge in that moment. Isak and Even knew, now, that they were in love. “Let’s go home.”

Isak saw the city differently now. It was familiar to both of them and they were equal there. They were comfortable with the rocking of the train and the noise of the streets. The walk up to Isak’s door was a regular commute. Isak was so glad to have Even back there again, even though it had only been a day since he’d left.

“I want to get you a key, so you can come and go whenever you want,” Isak remarked as they unwound their scarves and built a mountain of fabric on the back of his door.

“Cool. I want to fuck you twice. Which do you want to do first?”

Isak laughed at the innocence of Even’s tone, the implication that keys had even the smallest chance of being more important than sex. But then he let Even kiss him, finally. He let Even push him up against their coats and fill his mouth with his own. He let his eyes close so the rest of his senses could pick up on the pleasure.

They stripped right there in the kitchen, pulling each other’s clothes off in a quiet frenzy. Even almost tripped over his own pants. He guided Isak to the bedroom and they left every bit of the outside world behind.

The sex was slower this time, more. Even pulled more out of the bedside table, more condoms and more toys. The rush that distracted them in the kitchen wasn’t needed when there wasn’t an end to reach. They fucked twice. They fucked forever. Isak was on his back, his belly, on all fours. He rode Even to one orgasm and had another against the edge of the bed, standing while Even jack hammered into his ass. He reciprocated with well-timed clenches and a prostate massage, finding erogenous zones with the vibrator. They made a sweaty, sticky, mess of the bed, of themselves, and couldn’t be bothered to leave the afterglow to tidy up. Isak pressed his whole exhausted body into Even’s as they waited for their orgasms to release them.

“This…is why you need a key.”

They laughed and kissed and teased and breathed, and then sleep dragged them down into darkness.


	10. Ten

Isak woke up late. He had felt Even leave early in the morning but hadn’t put up a fight; he knew he had to run, to shower, to get clean clothes. He allowed them what they both needed to recover, and for him it was the sleep that carried him to 11:30. He loved vacation. An ebook kept him under the covers until about 2, and then he couldn’t ignore his stomach, or the rest of the world, any longer.

He ate a bowl of cereal and took stock of the kitchen. He built a grocery list while he chewed, taking Even’s tastes into account. He dug a dry cleaning slip out of the pocket of some dirty jeans and lined up the errands that would keep him moving in and out of the apartment for the rest of the day. An impromptu visit to a bookstore and florist extended his errands into the evening, but then he took his hunger home.

Isak didn’t realize, until he plugged in his phone and noticed the lack of notifications on his screen, that he hadn’t spoken to Even all day. He immediately dialed his number, putting it on speaker, while he went to put the flowers in a vase. Even didn’t pick up though, so he ran to end the call and texted him instead. It was a little late for dinner, but he could at least invite him back to his bed.

Even didn’t respond that night, but Isak took it in stride this time. He brought another book to bed and used it to distract himself from the empty space that Even had claimed. It worked for the most part. He sent Even an _X_ before drifting to sleep.

It was when Thursday morning began filtering in through his blinds that Isak started to worry about not hearing from Even. A full day of no contact didn’t seem alarming for any other relationship that Isak had, but this wasn’t like any other relationship. This was Even. He dialed again, then texted again. He thought of all the possible things Even was doing instead of responding. He got a little angry, then mad at himself for getting angry, and then just disappointed in the whole situation. He wanted Even to show some sign of life, and he wanted himself to care a little bit less that he was being ignored.

There was a moment of reprieve when Isak got a calendar reminder about the New Years Eve party that night. An agency invited a select number of people to use their office for the countdown, since their building was right on the river and had the best view for the fireworks at midnight. It was one of the hottest tickets in book publishing, and Isak was excited about the invitation before he even had anything close to a date. Now that he did, he jumped to text Even about it.

_If you’re free tonight I’d love to take you to a New Year’s Eve party by the river. It’s kind of fancy but the fireworks are worth it. Text me._

_Or even if you’re not free, text me._

_Even, please._

Isak wondered just how desperate he would get. He almost wished he were at work and had something else to do, someone else who demanded his attention. But he didn’t. It was just Even Even Even and why why why for hours. He tried to watch TV. He even logged into his work email. He hung up his suit in the bathroom in anticipation of a shower steam. He stood out on his deck for about twenty seconds before he got too cold. He sent more texts. _$5 says you won’t call me back._

It was the first bet he didn’t want to win.

Around 4 PM, as the sun was setting, Isak started to feel like he was running out of time. For what, he didn’t know. But he threw on his coat and left his apartment, pulling Even’s address up on his phone as he went.

Maybe it was the new year, fast approaching. Isak didn’t usually subscribe to that sentiment, that the year had to end with some kind of bang or last-minute accomplishment, but he was aware of the countdown. It worried him. It was like when you were reading a book and could tell you were only one chapter from the end, but the story wasn’t going to resolve itself in time. The ending he wanted was slipping out of his reach with every page. His anxiety shuttled him across the river and in the direction of the piers. He followed Even’s route to his apartment.

When he arrived he realized that he didn’t know Even’s apartment number. All of the names on the buzzer block were strange, and he didn’t know whose apartment he was staying in. He paced in the doorway for a minute, and then realized he didn’t come all the way there just to be turned away by a solvable problem. He pressed all of them.

No one opened the door. A man asked who he was on the intercom, but when he couldn’t provide a convincing lie he was ignored. He tried another round of all the buzzers, save the man’s. Still no entry. He tried one more time, and then a woman screamed through the box: “Fuck off before I call the police!” He resorted to pacing, and hoping someone would come home soon for him to sneak in behind.

Twenty minutes later, and still stuck on the sidewalk, he called Even’s phone. He left a message this time. “Hei Even, I’m outside your apartment. I’m…I’m not crazy, I’m just worried. I don’t understand why you’re not responding. Could you let me in, or come down and meet me? I just want to see that you’re okay. Okay…takk.” He paced for ten more minutes. He craned his neck to look at the windows above him, hoping to catch a glimpse of Even walking around one of the apartments. He listened for a buzz and checked his phone constantly, losing hope and gaining fear with every second.

He called again, but Even’s phone went straight to voicemail. It was a sign, and it broke his heart. He had to walk away.

Isak ended up at his office. The floor was dark, completely empty, but his keycard still worked to unlock the glass doors. Lights flicked on as he walked past sensors. He checked the kitchen for any leftover alcohol from the holiday party and found solace in a bottle of cheap prosecco. He carried it to his office and slid his door shut behind him. He didn’t know how he had gotten to this point.

He dialed Even from his office phone, in case Even had blocked his number. It went right to voicemail again. He didn’t know if that meant his phone had died or he was blocking every call. Neither option made Isak feel any better. He took swigs from the bottle and spun around in his chair. He waited for his screen to light up with something, anything.

When he started to get dizzy he stopped spinning. He stared at his back wall. He had a shelf of some of his recent books on display, and gifts from authors mixed with personal art prints graced the wall. It was decorated to his taste, but functioned more as an advertisement for himself. Here was his work and the gratitude that people felt for that. It told everyone who walked into his office about what he loved. He wished, somehow, that he could put Even up there. Fuck, he’d build a whole special shelf for him.

His eyes dropped to the floor, where manuscripts in progress lined the wall. Julia’s was there, and Adam’s. And Even’s. Even though it wasn’t his manuscript anymore, even though he had a digital copy, he hadn’t found the heart to throw it away. He scootered his chair over to it and picked it up. Seeing Even’s handwriting made him smile. He spun back to his desk and laid it out, flipping through the pages and remembering what that day felt like. When he noticed that he had stopped flipping and was simply reading along, he turned back to the first page and started over.

**Day 301.**

* * *

**Day 326: I had mail today. One was a birthday card. Well, I guess they were both birthday cards, but one of them was from a clothing company with a generous 40% off discount to celebrate my big day. I tucked the well-wishers into my pocket and continued walking out. It was the first time I had left my apartment in a week because I used my birthday as an arbitrary deadline. Thirty-two years ago I learned how to breathe; the least I could do to celebrate was go outside. Stand on those legs I grew. Use the voice I developed to communicate with another human being. Buy a winter coat for cheap. Something little, not too over-the-top.**

**“Congratulations, you continued.” Mary fell into step beside me.**

**“Is that what it was? A continuation?”**

**“Well I certainly wasn’t celebrating the whole breathing-walking-talking-buying-coats thing.”**

**“Right, but I was hoping for something in between.”**

**I saw her nod her head in concession. “Some of them were fun, I suppose. But they made me feel guilty.”**

**She left me again, then, without notice. I kept walking to the pier, hoping she would come back. I knew that she wouldn’t, at least not today. She never hung around long enough for me to get an answer.**

* * *

**Day 341:**

**The first time Mary went to The Bryn she didn’t like it. She sulked the whole time and tugged on Mama’s hand. Mama asked me to distract her “so she stops bothering everyone.” I let her tug on my hand instead. We skipped ahead a couple of paintings and played I Spy. I picked the colors that were hard to find, tiny specks that I would have to point out when she gave up and started whining. She searched thoroughly though, and didn’t give up too fast. I was just making it difficult. We found all of the colors and Mama kept her cool.**

**We played that every time we went, until she grew out of it. Then we found all of the colors on our own.**

**“I spy…depression.” She pointed and let out a bark of a laugh.**

**“That’s what the doctor said?” I looked at the painting, not her.**

**“Yes. A textbook case. Which is nice I guess. Makes it sound normal. Just…run-of-the-mill depression.” Mary walked behind me and moved to the next one. She started searching. The light reflecting off of the painting illuminated her face.**

**“What did he say to do?”**

**“This. That. Everything. Too much. It’s exhausting. I’m not here to babysit my brain.”**

**“But you have to.”**

**She shot me a look that felt like a knife through my skull. “I don’t have to do anything.”**

**We didn’t talk the last time we went. She searched in silence, and when she found what she was looking for, she moved on. Or maybe she didn’t find anything and just gave up. I don’t know.**

* * *

**Day 360: She would’ve hated that we held a service for her. I didn’t realize it then, but walking into the church now I could see the disgust painted on her face. The church was never for her. The idea of this god didn’t make sense to her, and it made her angry that Mama turned to it when she was scared. I went to the service and sat in the back and tried to see what Mary saw. She sat next to me, in all black. “When my diagnosis changed Mama told him.” She pointed at the pastor. “She asked him for help.” Disdain dripped from her voice.**

**“She didn’t know what to do.”**

**“Neither did I. Neither did anyone. But we didn’t go running to someone who had absolutely no clue what it meant.”**

**_Yeah. You did something else instead_. I didn’t say it out loud but she still heard me. That’s what ghosts do.**

**“You think I don’t know what I did? You think I didn’t consider every single one of my options? I wrote it all down, just like that doctor told me to. I did the fucking math. This was not an option. To give up my mind, my body, my agency to something that doesn’t exist. I’ve already lost so much of myself. Who am I if I give up even more?”**

**“Mary. You gave up everything.” She went silent. She disappeared.**

**I wasn’t dumb. I knew it was a coping mechanism. Mama turned to the church so she didn’t have to shoulder all of the blame. That was the bigger problem though, that she thought there was any blame to shoulder in the first place. I realized this, and continued to sit in the church, not satisfied with my own answer. I was doing it too. Who do you blame for who someone becomes? Mary blamed herself.**

**At the service Mama sat at the front stoically. She looked grim but opened up for everyone’s condolences. She tilted her head and offered tight smiles. She agreed with everyone, that Mary was in a better place now. She thanked God for Mary’s life, no matter how short it was. It had been well-lived under the guidance of her family and friends.**

**“Bullshit. She just feels guilty she couldn’t save me.” Mary was at the front now, preaching over the pastor.**

**“Could anyone have? Saved you?”**

**“No. No one can save you from yourself.”**

**“You are not your disease.”**

**“I am not. But I also can’t be defined without it. It is my responsibility, and only mine, to fight every time it attacks. If I can do that, then I can stop it from being the only thing that defines me.”**

**I heard her voice go sour with sarcasm. She was just a mouthpiece then, spitting out what the doctor told her every Saturday morning. It was retaliation, the canned response that my own catchphrase deserved. Then I saw her face soften. She gave up the hardness that she hid behind.**

**“I’m sorry that you’re still here. That you’re still looking for answers. The point was to escape this pain, this doubt. For everyone. I wanted to save you from myself.”**

**Before, she would hide. When things got particularly dark, she retreated to the shadows. She cut us off. But then she would come back.**

**_Come back. Save me from a world without you._ **

* * *

Isak stopped. He was overwhelmed. He knew what was coming, and he was more afraid of it than before. It felt real this time, the helplessness, because he couldn’t reach Mary the way he couldn’t reach Even. He was cut…off.

Isak launched out of his chair; it crashed against the wall.

_“Is it real?”_

_“No. Even doesn’t have a sister.”_

Isak’s hands flew to the pages. The pier. The museum. The park. The roof of an office building. The bridge. Where did Mary go? Where did Even go? The church. The church. He racked his brain. Which church? The memorial service. He flipped to the day that the narrator remembered the service for the first time. Hidden among the details of the mother and the flowers was a description of the stained glass above the heavy front doors, a beauty that the narrator acknowledged but didn’t appreciate. Isak fumbled for his phone, his fingers unable to move as fast as his mind. He Googled the churches in the city, tapping on saints and denominations, examining photos of bell towers and biblical scenes outlined in lead. His eyes began to blur. Where did Even go? Was this—? He read the description again, looking at the photo. It was round, lit from the inside, an angel bathed in white and announcing something with a trumpet. It was for Isak: Even was there.

Saint Olga’s, 21 blocks away. 

He had known the ending from the very beginning, but now it was time for that twist. Isak ran.


	11. Eleven

The doors to the church were wide open. A New Year’s Eve service was in progress, and Isak could hear a faint choir. He slowed, to catch his breath, and walked up the steps. His heart was pounding. Heaters in the back of the sanctuary blew hot air across Isak as he crossed the threshold, making his cheeks flush and nose run. The choir echoed around him now, bouncing off the stone, and the glow from candles lining the aisle drew him in. He dropped to an even slower pace, out of respect, and fear that he would miss him. He scanned the heads of the people scattered about the rows. He was looking for gold.

Then he found it: three rows from the front, on the left side, golden waves a head above everyone else. He hesitated for the last time.

Isak didn’t look at him when he sat down, but he heard Even gasp when he realized it was him. He picked Even’s hand out of his lap and held it between his own, his eyes focused on the back of the pew in front of them. It was all he could handle right then. Adrenaline was still coursing through his body and he had too much to process. 

He was relieved, first and foremost. He had found him. That was the next thing that coursed through him, the release from the nightmare that he had expected. It made his breath shudder and his eyes well up with tears. Even watched him shake, and rested his free hand on Isak’s forearm in reassurance. He had found him.

Next came the sadness though. He had been right. _The story you are about to hear is true. The names have been changed to protect the innocent._ He hadn’t known a pain like Mary’s, and now it was right there, living and breathing next to him. He held the pain in his hands. The tears spilled out. Isak blinked them onto his cheeks and let them fall. He wasn’t going to wipe them away. He wasn’t going to let go.

The choir continued. A pastor walked out to deliver an uplifting message about the new year, but Isak didn’t hear it. The people around them stood, the wooden pews creaking and their boots shuffling. Isak waited until almost everyone had left, until he thought he could speak without falling apart. Then he looked at Even.

“What are you doing here?” Even asked.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Isak asked right back. He watched Even swallow, the realization that he couldn’t escape anymore blooming across his face. He held the pain in his hands and wasn’t going to let go.

“Who told you?”

“You did. Mary did.”

“Isak—“ Even’s voice cracked over his name. Isak took a deep breath.

“We’re going to go to your apartment. You’re going to pack as much as you can, whatever you need. Clothes. Toothbrush. Medication. Then I’m taking you to my place. And you are never leaving me like this ever again.” Anger creeped into his voice at the end. He twisted his fingers through Even’s and brought the back of his hand up to his mouth. He pressed a kiss into the bones. He waited for Even to nod, and then he let them stand, go.

* * *

They followed Isak’s plan exactly. Even took him to his sublet, pointing out his buzzer and showing him which unmarked button you had to press in the elevator to get the door to close. They rested in each other’s arms on the ride up, letting their heads lean on each other’s shoulders. In the apartment Isak found Even’s phone on the kitchen table and plugged it in. He watched the screen flash to life and reveal his missed calls and texts. He listened for Even and followed his sound through the rest of the rooms. They ended up in the bathroom.

“I take doses in the morning and at night.” Even held up the plastic bottles before dropping them into his bag. “I usually carry spares, but sometimes I forget. Or let myself get distracted.”

“Did you miss them when you were with me?”

“I tried not to. But yes.”

They kept their tones neutral, stating facts instead of placing blame. Even grabbed his half-full pill organizer and toothbrush from the edge of the sink. He reached into the shower for his body wash and shampoo. He cleaned out most of the bathroom, and they quietly discussed what of Isak’s they could share and what he could leave behind. He packed two bags in total and they each carried one across the river.

As they were walking from the metro to Isak’s apartment the fireworks began; the night had turned over into the new year. They heard cheers explode from the buildings above them. Isak kept walking, not caring about time anymore, but Even reached out for his arm and stopped him. “Isak. Can we…?” The city began to sing Ault Lang Syne.

They were in public. There were people on the street. Even was asking for the new year, but he was also asking for them. Had the rules changed? There was more truth, but was there less fear? Isak was slow, but he answered. He stepped to Even and let go of the bag. He brought his hands up to Even’s face. He licked an _I love you_ into his lips and pressed it to Even’s, his only wish for the new year. For them.

Technically he didn’t say it out loud, so he knew it would come true.

* * *

Even ran. Isak picked up bagels. They met back in his bed.

“Do I need to shower first?”

“No, I like the way you smell.” Isak handed him his bagel and they ate breakfast leaning against the headboard. Once they were done they balled up the tinfoil and paper bag.

“Five dollars says you can’t sink all three from this exact position.” Even was slumped down a bit, and probably couldn’t see the small garbage bin in the opposite corner of the room. Isak offered his ball and the bag. Even silently took the bet with a raise of his eyebrows. He picked up all three balls and lobbed them across the room in quick succession. Isak crawled to the end of the bed to see where they landed. His jaw dropped when he saw that all three had made it. “Shit.”

Even smiled and shrugged. “I’m a writer. It’s a job requirement to be able to constantly sink balled up pieces of paper from across a room.”

“Do you write longhand?” Isak crawled back up.

“In the beginning, when I’m planning. But then I have to type for the actual draft.”

“I can’t wait to watch you write.” Isak slumped down next to Even, tucking into his side. Even reached an arm up and around him to make space.

“That’s…strange.”

“Why?”

“Because…that’s just me, sitting there, wiggling my fingers. That’s not like, enjoyable.”

“If I recall correctly, you really enjoyed it when I was wiggling my fingers.”

“Jesus Isak, you’re such a horndog,” Even mumbled, as he curled down to kiss Isak. He pressed him into the pillows and slowly shifted his weight on top of him. Isak spread his legs to fit Even between them. They kept their eyes open and kissed soft and sweet, just like the morning.

“Can I ask another question?” Isak whispered when they had slowed to a stop.

Before the run and the bagels Isak had woken up with Even’s alarm. They had whispered about Even’s medication and schedule. Even tried to explain his baseline so Isak could reference it when something felt off. Then he left, and Isak was on his own to think about this new Even he was in love with. What stayed the same though, was how much he wanted to know everything about him. So he had more questions, but he worked on his pacing like a good editor.

Even nodded into his shoulder.

“Why did you write Mary? Why not first person?”

Even let out a small huff of breath and then lifted his head so they could see each other. He spoke above Isak though, looking out the window. “I couldn’t write about me if I was writing as me. But I also couldn’t write about anything if it wasn’t about me. So the compromise was this person who let me express myself and let me step away from myself. It also gave me an out.” Even paused to gather his thoughts. “I know that bipolar and suicide are exclusively personal fates, and I did not want anyone feeling that my fate was theirs. Instead you’re seeing this particular fate through the eyes of someone else. And I wanted you to see me through that lens of understanding, through the search for why.”

“Even.” Isak was nearly distraught at the beauty of his response, in its eloquence and honesty and intent. He could not answer with any other words except his name. “Even.” He brought his hands to Even’s neck and pulled him back down. “Even.” He was going to spend the rest of his life trying to understand Even’s fate, how it would change big and small, and he could think of nothing better. He was firmly in the narrator’s shoes.

Even kissed at the neck of Isak’s tee, climbing to his jaw and making his way to Isak’s mouth. After a pause there for some tongue, he continued to Isak’s other cheek and up to his scar. “Do you know why you have this scar?” He gave him a peck right on it.

“Because the city didn’t salt the metro steps.”

Even paused to consider the answer. “Technically yes. But also because on a cold Thursday in December I shook a man’s hand and knew instantly that he would never be my editor.” Even settled back on his own pillow and Isak snuggled into him again. He ran his fingers through Isak’s curls and continued telling his story to the ceiling. “You see, even though he understood my book and gave me amazing notes and offered me an extra forty thousand dollars, I had to make a personal decision and say no. I had to leave the money and the smart editor behind so I could ask him out on a date instead. I made another personal decision and begged a bookseller to add me to the _Christmas Carol_ reading. I made another personal decision and pretended to not know where anything was in the city. I made another personal decision and placed ridiculous five-dollar bets. All so that, sitting on your couch and staring at your busted-ass face, I could kiss you. You have this scar because I wanted to kiss you. Like this.” Even dipped in again, squishing his nose against Isak’s and dragging his lips across skin. “And like this.” He tilted his head a bit for a fuller kiss. “And like this.” Then they were gone: mouths open, tongues pressing, hands roaming, personal decision after personal decision after personal decision.


	12. Epilogue

In August the first finished copies came in from the printer. Laurel had fast-tracked Even’s book for September just like Isak had wanted to, and Luke hadn’t put up much of a fight. They made up for lost time with a swift blurb campaign, only two rounds of edits, and the fastest cover approval Isak had seen in years. Chrissy had nailed the design on the first try. Laurel had a stack of five copies on her desk, and she held one in her hand while she dialed Even.

“Darling, it’s here. It’s beautiful.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Can I have Joey send you three? I only have five, and one has to go to Luke. We’ll get more when they land at the warehouse in a couple of weeks.”

“Can I come pick them up? I’m on break soon.”

“Of course. You know the drill. Oh I can’t wait to see your face when you see this. You deserve a round of applause.”

As soon as the clock struck 12 Even hopped in a cab uptown. He texted Isak as he rode, asking if he could come into his office to show him something.

_I can’t do lunch sex again._

_It’s not lunch sex. But are you free?_

_Until 2_

_Great. And it might also be lunch sex._

Even chuckled at the eye roll he knew Isak was giving his phone, and then dropped his own phone in his breast pocket. When the cab pulled up to BMG he paid, hopped out, and ran inside.

He visited Laurel’s office pretty regularly. When they started working on edits at the end of January, they set up a loose weekly schedule for him to visit and address any issues in person. He had sat with Chrissy for a few of the meetings to make sure she understood the book and could treat it properly. Other meetings were for Marketing and Publicity, around the beginning of the summer, and then more recently, as well-laid plans were just starting to roll out, he kept his meetings with just Laurel as they discussed his next book. And then he popped over to Canfield for a blowjob in the men’s room. It was a good routine, and Isak was into it as long as it was on a Summer Friday and neither of them would be caught on their knees.

This was going to be just a drive-by though. He went through the security rigmarole at the front desk and took an elevator to her floor. Since he was there so often he started to get to know the rest of the employees in her group, and he greeted as many as he could on the way in. Laurel wasn’t at her desk when he arrived, so he hung out with Joey while he waited. He didn’t want to spoil the surprise.

“You might be the most patient author I’ve ever had,” Laurel yelled as she approached. “Everyone else would’ve just gone right in and stolen a copy.” Even could tell this was more a warning for eavesdropping ears versus an actual greeting. He laughed and followed her into the office, taking his usual seat on her couch. “Now without further ado: I present Even Bech Næsheim’s debut novel.” Laurel held the hardcover gingerly in two hands and placed it in Even’s upturned palms.

It was heavy, a real weight. Even turned it in his hands, feeling the rough paper and admiring its sharp angles. The blue was a perfect blue, and the embossing rippled under his fingers. “It’s beautiful. Thank you, Laurel.”

“Thank you, Even. It’s been an honor working with you this year, and it will continue to be an honor as we grow your career. Now come here.” She waved her hands at Even to get him to stand, and then she pulled him in for a hug. “I know you want to run right over to Canfield, but you’re going to sign my copy before I send you away.” She let him go and plucked a permanent marker from her desk. Even cracked open the book he was holding. “Always sign on the title page.” Laurel flipped to the right one for him. He scribbled a short, meaningful inscription and signed his name with a flourish. He closed the book and handed it back to her.

“You changed my life, Laurel.”

“Good. Now go change someone else’s.”

* * *

Even signed all three books in the cab on the way to Canfield. He slid a five-dollar bill into one of them though, marking the dedication page. This was Isak’s.

In the office he stopped to chat with Annie, complimenting her new haircut. She blushed and sent him down the hall. He greeted Isak’s coworkers too, and checked with Nick before he barged into Isak’s office. “He’s not on the phone, right?”

“No, go right ahead.”

Even walked in, interrupting Isak’s chopped salad and manuscript review. Isak quickly swallowed and stood. “Hi babe.”

“Look,” Even almost shouted, shoving his book into Isak’s chest.

“It’s real!”

“I know!” 

“Wow, this is amazing. You did it.” Isak rolled it around in his hands the same way Even had. “Can I put it on my shelf?”

“Read it first, please. I signed it.”

Even was proud and shy at the same time. He watched Isak flip through the frontmatter, looking for handwriting. When he noticed the five-dollar bookmark he let out a laugh. “Oh that’s cute.” Then his face softened into pure sentiment as he read the dedication:

**To my editor.  
Thank you for the twist.**

“Even.” Isak closed the book and laid it on his desk. He walked around to Even and pulled him into a hug, holding him for a minute. They smiled into each other’s shoulders and squeezed the kind of squeeze that doesn’t let go. Even leaned back and lightly kissed Isak’s scar.

They heard Gina holler from behind her glass door.


End file.
